Hero

There he laid by the hospital bed; so frail and weak, barely hanging onto his life. His once toned muscular arms were now boney and wrinkled. His once stern face was now pale and lifeless.

Hard to imagine that he was my father; my hero.

Everyone has their own versions of heros. To a young child, a hero is someone who flies around, rescues people and shoots laser beams out of their eyes. To a working adult, a hero could be the boss who gives a timely pay raise. To an elderly person, a hero could be their son-in-law who gives their daughter and grandchildren a comfortable home.

To me, that man lying half dead on that white sheeted bed, he was and still is my hero.

Funny thing about heros; they are immortal. Their bodies may perish and just rot away into the Earth, but their legacies remain etched into our hearts.

"I cannot go in," I whimpered as tears welled up in my brown eyes. "I cannot bear to see him like this."

I turned my back toward him, ready to make a cowardly retreat. Just then he called my name out, "Andrea."

Knowing there was no escaping; both his love and my conscience, I took a deep breath and turned around to face him. With every step I took towards him, I felt a little bit of my courage slip away.

"Why were you leaving without saying goodbye?", he asked as he looked at me with sorrowful eyes.

"I didn't want to disturb you, father," I replied with a weak smile.

"There is no point hiding, child. Death is bound to come sooner or later."

"I know, I know," there and then, I could not control any longer. I stared at the flooring and tears fell down. "But why does it have to come so fast?"

"Fast?", father asked almost immediately. Then I saw a smile widen across his sallow face. "Remember the time you said you couldn't wait till I was gone?"

I let out a giggle just when he said that, but when I remembered what I had done, I cried even more.

I was young, juvenile and rebellious; I was sixteen. Oblivious of all the good things my parents had done for me and the countless sacrifices they made in my name. I was at the age where any relationship was 'Love'. I met this boy; suave and rich. He promised me the moon and the stars, nothing less. It felt like a fairy tale. Needless to say, my protective father was not in favour of our relationship. He tried to cut off all relations we had. However, the more he tried, the more I defied him. Eventually, I decided to run away from home. The very words I said before leaving were, "I wish that you were dead!" I thought I was able to get to my then boyfriend's house and stay for a few days. However, to my surprise, I saw him there being hanky panky with another girl.

My heart shattered, my fairy tale became a living nightmare. I roamed the streets, not wanting to go home. It was like as if in a matter of minutes, my whole world fell apart - and I caused it. At night, I went to the beach my father and I always used to go. I sat below a tree and decided to rest there for the night. Everytime I closed my eyes, I would remember of what I said to my father and what I saw at my boyfriend's house. It hurt so bad, so bad.

"Why is my princess sleeping out in the cold?", the familiar voice of my father's resounded in my ear.

I opened my eyes to see him kneeling next to me, smiling.

"I finally found you. Let's go home," he said warmly as he picked up my bags.

Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, but because of what happened, I saw how important I was to him. I remember just as we took a taxi home, I felt so safe falling asleep in his arms; like nothing could ever hurt me, because my hero was here.

Needless to say, I got quite a dressing down once I got home from my mother and brother. My father only stood next to me, with his protective arm around me, silent. It seemed like, he was contented just knowing I was back home safely again.

Another incident occurred when I was in primary school. Ever since I was a toddler, my health proved to be weaker than the average child. I was not as immuned to germs and often fell very ill. A visit to the doctor once a week was a minimum.

Being so, getting me enrolled in a good primary school was rather difficult. Many schools rejected me as they feared there would be a bad reflection on their attendance charts. The rest of the family was disheartened but father pursued. He literally went to try and beg the principal of this particular primary school to give me a chance. I remember the conversation quite vividly.

"Tell me, why should I enroll your daughter in? She only proves to be average in intelligence and extremely weak in health. I don't want to be responsible for anything.", the principal said.

"I know she is weak in health, but she is a very smart girl! I promise you!! You just leave her health into my hands, I am working very hard to get her the best medical treatment!" my father replied in confidence.

"Hmm, according to the records, you are only working as a cleaner? And your wife is illiterate. How good is your 'best'?", she asked as she leaned forward from her chair.

Knowing my father, he would have gotten terribly offended. However, I saw through his eyes, that for my sake, he controlled himself.

"Good enough for her," my father replied whilst looking at the floor. "Right now, I just want the best for her, so she won't end up anything like me."

I saw my father clutch his fists as his face grew a little red.

"You are also residing at a very far place, won't that be inconvenient?", she questioned further.

"It's okay!" my father answered, as if he was perked up. "My boss managed to transfer my work place to a location nearby, so I could drop and pick her up from school easily."

Unsure whether it was out of guilt or purely pursuaded by my persistant father, I managed to get enrolled in the school.

True to his word, every morning he would bring me to school. His hands would be holding onto my school bag, as he piggy-backed me; allowing me to rest a little more. I remember seeing other students getting off luxurious cars, whilst I was getting off my father's back.

Yet, I felt more fortunate than them.

After school, he would punctually be at the gates waiting for me. I would run into his open arms as he picked me up and carried me to his work place. There, I did my homework.

"Father, how do you do this question?"

I often asked him this. However, he failed to be able to answer. Instead of just giving up, he would approach other workers or stall owners. Sometimes, he even went to ask the customers eating at the hawker.

I understood that all he wanted was the best for me.

Now I am a fully grown woman of twenty-three years old. My father had been diagnosed with cancer and his days were numbered.

There, he laid by the hospital bed. All weak and lifeless.

We laughed as we recalled all those times we shared together. It was quite obvious, he always pampered me more than my brother.

I held on gently to his hand and tears just kept flowing. I recalled those priceless memories we shared and vowed to never forget them.

People often define their hero as someone who is strong and invincible.

My hero? That man whom was lying by that hospital bed, all weak and dependent on us. My hero, the one who is watching me from heaven right now.