A Day of Peace

Today was a day I very much needed in my life, a day I used to have often and knew upon starting up work again that I would dearly miss. It was a mostly self-absorbed day, though I seem to be incapable of 100% indulging these days.

A morning of leg exercises and vacuuming while waiting on laundry. Then a long hot shower while I caught up on news that I’ve been bubbled from reading due to my hectic work schedule. Had planned to get out early and capture the day but tweaked my ankle while working out so took the hint and threw a load of kitchen towels in and gave my dogs some much needed attention and pets. Mop heads were dry and finally got to that chore just as kit was coming home for lunch.

Kit came home for lunch… had leftover Thanksgiving feast waiting for her so we could maximize our time together before she had to go back. Such a restful sleep, I almost stayed in bed even as kit went off to work again. It’s cold and rainy here for the last few days and staying in bed with three dogs was mighty tempting.

Alas the boys had been promised an epic dungeons and dragons adventure and, after such a relaxing day off, I was brimming with creativity and motivation. So off I went to sit in the busy local bakery and people watch all the family reunions going on around me as I typed away, cropping photos kit had shared to build out an epic story that seems to entertain everyone I tell about it.

Got back after kit and fed the starving doggos. Then off to sit in a restaurant for far too long before we got some delicious food. Hangry kit went from grumpy to philosophical after she got her food and now seems quite pacified.

The rest of my weekend is going to be rather busy with visiting family and ignored chores. But it’s nice to reminisce on good times while they last. I put thought into all the loved ones I’ve lost over the years this week and how they have impacted my life and changed who I am. I just wanted to take a moment and write this day down to remember why days off are so valuable.

Mount Vesuvius

My pet has a blessing. She has the finest leg and arm hairs of anyone I’ve ever met. It’s true. You would think she shaves them daily, but her secret… she never does. Her hair is thin and light colored and soft to the touch as if it isn’t even there…

So of course with such a blessing comes such a curse. She is very self-conscious about her dark “pubies” as she calls them. She shaves and plucks rigorously and proudly lets me know at random intervals that she has done this. “I’m plucking!” I’ll hear shouted across the house… well not lately. I’m already on the road these days. I miss those silly morning moments with her badly.

Anyway not to get side-tracked… her plucking comes with a downside. Hair plucking occasionally comes with the worst of nature’s curses…ingrown hairs or as she calls them “pussy pimples”

Once every few months I will see Kit freeze up suddenly. Like, you’d think she fed the dogs chocolate three hours ago and just realized the mistake. Totally stops what she is doing.

“Oh no…”

And then after the initial shock… I already know the reality of it.

“Pussy pimple?”

She nods… gravely. And then the song and dance begins. “Can you see it? Is it a white head? Can you pop it?!”

As I stare trying to see something that can only be felt… mostly only by her and she frets and groans. I’ll have some fun and squeeze at it and have her freak out and screech “Sensitive!!”

After a few taunting squeezes, I will shrug and give up. She always asks if it’s a white head and if I popped it. I smile and say not at all and that she is stuck with it for a while. She does not like this answer.

These stories end a number of ways and over a number of lengths of time. But we always will remember the one time about 3 years ago. The event that ended in an explosion we will never forget. The Mount Vesuvius incident…

Kit had been suffering for nearly 2 weeks from one pimple. She would moan about it before her shower for days. I just couldn’t pop it or lacked the time to try seriously. It became irritated and the mound continued to grow in size. After 2 weeks we had a real monster on our hands and had to go in for a serious popping…

And at long last… Kit found her release. It exploded like a stockpile of tnt buried beneath a mound of earth. The entire white head launching from her like a satellite entering orbit. She screamed “ooooouchie!!!” for a moment but then was free.

In our minds we knew the comparison that has to be made. It was, without a doubt, a real Mount Vesuvius. From that day on we would nickname any serious pussy pimple after a famous volcano, judging relative explosive power and size of famous eruptions against each other in an ever evolving inside joke.

“How is it?”

“A real Mount St. Helen on our hands.”

“Is it real bad?”

“Like Kilauea.”

“It hurts!!!”

“You need to endure. We might have a Yellow Stone under the surface!”

Somehow this exercise triggers a mild feeling of sadistic glee in me. She is trusting me to squeeze and pop the most sensitive part of her body. And as I do, she squirms and squeals and struggles in pain and shock. And I push on to give her the relief she needed. It’s one of the strangest and most easily obtained masochistic high I get from playing with her. How weird is that?

I’ll honestly be surprised if Kit lets me publish this, but even if this is only read by her, I had a lot of fun writing it. Love you for all your silliness Kit!

Obedience

I’ve always been an obedient child growing up. Nanny would tell me stories of the two or three year old me. How easy it was to raise me. At that time, she was working for multiple households (in secret). She would bundle me up and strap me to her back while grandparents were taking their afternoon nap. Think I was old enough to blurt out some words here and there. So when She took me to different neighborhoods, I’d mumble in shanghainese that nanny did “laundry here” or “scrubbed toilets there”. Of course she didn’t want my grandparents to find out, so she told me to keep it a secret. I did, not really knowing what secret meant. There was another time when a bottle of milk had dropped on my head. Nanny said I was about to cry, but I stifled it when she urged me not to make any noise for fear that grandpa would yell at her for being clumsy…I could think of many other stories, but bottom line being I was who I was even at that age.

When I was a bit older and occasionally got bullied in preschool or elementary, I preferred not to to fight back. I tend to just shrug my shoulders and move on. When adults found out (they always do), they would get upset and wanted justice. Think I was seriously more upset by them making a ruckus than being bullied. Remembered clearly walking home one day from school. A kid pushed me from behind and I chipped two of my upper incisors in the process. Came home bloodied. I just wanted some comfort, but was met with a lot of anger that I didn’t confront the kid and held him accountable. Grandma went to school next day, spoke to numerous teachers and found out who the kid was. She made him apologize and his parents were notified too…think the whole ordeal had made me felt extremely uncomfortable, horrified even. Don’t know why. Perhaps I disliked confrontation and certainly disliked all the attention I got as an result. Adults had always lectured me that I was too nice to people and I needed to stand up for myself. But what if that was just me and I was comfortable with being me?

Fast forward several years. Mom knew of my disposition and she was extremely protective of me when my dad was ordering me to do things. For me, I just did it. It really didn’t bother me that much. Yes, he could have chose his words a bit differently, but there was no ill will behind his intentions. The ivy on the fences needed some trimming, the leaves on the front yard needed to be raked, dinner served before eight, dishes washed after meals, clothes folded and put away, and all other domestic chores you can think of, I just obeyed and did. Mom at times disliked the way dad treated me, but at other times she would be upset when certain chores weren’t done. There wasn’t much consistency to her, at least with my dad there was. Many times mom automatically assumed that my dad was being a bully. A lot of their arguments stemmed from that. I blamed myself for most of their fights. Perhaps some of my personalities had changed then?

When I went off to college, everything kind of changed. There were block of time where I was my own boss and developed my own way of living. Met Hubby in college. Since He don’t have much of His own preference on way of things, I became his boss as well. Don’t think it was natural for me to lead, but certainly something new. Sometimes I’d be on top of my game, but most of the time I’d just lazy about and became the bachelorette frog I was then. It irritated Hubby, but He never spelled out how thing should be done in our relationship. So I remained the de facto leader of our relationship.

Was running errands the other day with Hubby. Forgot what exactly it was that had Him mention I was lousy at following His orders. A part of me was a bit surprised by that comment, but the other part totally recognized where He had came from. Think I was more surprised that He was the one to call me out on that than anything. Despite how obedient I was growing up, I do agree whole heartedly that I am lousy at following His commands. Period. Think this bad habit has been so deeply ingrained in me and this relationship that we both just overlooked it most of the time. It’s somewhat ironic that He is more motivated to be the leader of this relationship now that we have called off D/s. I am definitely not complaining here and I do hope this trend will continue. It definitely will require a lot of conscious efforts from both of us, but it’s a trend that we both wish to head towards.

Obedience. That’s something I’ll work on in this relationship. It is in my nature to follow. I just need to correct many of my bad habits with Him. Once that’s mostly addressed, we may attempt at D/s on a stronger footing. Ha! I’ve been thinking of how to write this post since that incident over the weekend. Didn’t really expect long stories from my past…sorry about the rambling today.

The Terror of Kit and ASMR

Kit is new to the concept of ASMR. I’m no expert in it either, but I seem to have randomly stumbled on the concept long before it became a regular event in Kit’s life. In short, it isn’t for me.

Quick summary for those not in the know: ASMR stands for Autonomus Sensory Meridian Response. It usually includes soft sounds that you don’t hear from day to day life. Those sounds then get amplified for odd people like the Kit to enjoy. For some people, it is relaxing. Some find it erotic. Many listen to those while meditating or sleeping. But in the case of Kit… she is using it for food porn. Satisfying her food cravings in the most unconventional way.

On her days off, Kit likes to cook. She goes through regular cycles of YouTubing recipes until she’s inspired to cook said recipes. One video led to another, she went down the YouTube algorithm rabbithole and discovered Mukbang few months ago… and my life has changed somewhat since that discovery of hers. It’s a korean food show where people cook and eat massive amounts of food on camera in the most barbaric ways imaginable. There are audiences… people like the Kit… who enjoy living vicariously through these food monsters as they devour massive plates of sea food, steaks, spicy noodles, and you name it!

But this… this is fine by me. I was never bothered by Kit watching cooking videos. Heck it sometimes even inspired the Kit to cook epic dishes, and boy is she a great cook. 99% of the time her dishes are magical. Every once in a great while she goes crazy with peppers or uses too much numbing peppercorns and it makes my stomach hurt. But other than those rare times, Kit usually is on par or slightly better than the best quality asian restaurants in our area.

But then… then ASMR and Mukbang videos entered her world. Of course they would. Put that specialized muffled microphone up close to the face of someone noisily slurping noodles or cracking the shell of an alaskan king crab and you get to watch the Mukbang fans swoon! Then there is the Kit, half naked, waching those videos every night, secretly wishing it was her who’s eating that scrumptious crab leg or tiger prawn…

I wish I can share her new found obsession, but for some reason this triggers borderline panic attacks for me. ASMR in general rubs me slightly the wrong way. Like nail on chalk board, those eating videos trigger a childhood repulsion to the sound my grandpa would make when he would eat donuts with his dentures and mouth open. If I’m in the room with Kit while she is listening to one on her phone, my skin immediately begins to crawl and I have to walk away as my entire focus is sucked into brooding over that slurping, chewing, crunching cacophony. Gah!!!

It is quite funny though. Kit too has a simliar distaste to people eatting loudly in public. Smacking their lips or talking with their mouth full. Just last week this happened and, while I sat brain dead from a long day of work and oblivious to the sound, Kit quietly brooded and went chiiii at the offending person. I am just at a loss to why she is totally okay with that on YouTube. Maybe she thinks of mukbangs as the ultimate window shopping version of eatting something without the expenses, long prep time, or calories. Who knows. The world of understanding Kit’s brain is a long road that I imagine will take my whole life to perfect, but it’s a road I look forward to travel. One that offers small victories in the form of insights into how her mind ticks and how I can control those cogs to lead her in a way that makes her feel warm and fuzzy. And perhaps in finding services she’s willing to offer that makes my day a little brighter. I especially enjoy the simple things like the foot and ankle rub she is giving as I type up this blog…

Life has its ups and downs and sometimes Kit do little things to drive me crazy, even when she mean well. But there are moments like this… covered in fur baby doggos with a nudist Kit rubbing out the soreness in my ankles and relaxing the fatigue in my mind, that makes life worth living…so long as she don’t play any of her mukbang videos…either way, thank you Kit for always being there for me in your own unique ways. Just, please, enjoy those videos with your head phones. Spare my poor ears and sanity!

Struggles

Been feeling tired all week and mind has been a bit sluggish. Have a few challenging cases at work and that seemed to have kicked my brain into overdrive. Feel like a zombie walking around the house most of time, but no matter. I got something on my mind to share.

In the past three or four weeks, I took open communication to a whole new level. Was always honest in what I say, but I’d always keep my deepest and darkest desires to myself. I was afraid that if I were to express them, I’d be judged for the horrible person I was. But in reality, when I finally blurted those out to Hubby and Gru against my will, I felt loved instead of judged…

It was extremely uncomfortable for me to be that open. It was filled with trepidation that I’d ruin relationships so wonderful with my own selfish desires. There is this saying in Chinese that people offer themselves up as sacrificial lambs for others to butcher and tear apart. I felt like that sacrificial lamb. Stuck in a limbo, not sure what was right or wrong…

But I kept talking. I kept on communicating my feelings and some times triggers behind those feelings. First time around felt impossible, second time around felt a bit doable, and third time around I just talked. It was liberating in a way. To shed all of those judgments I had of myself. Feelings are feelings. Those I don’t have controls over. However, I do have control over my cognizant self. Instead of burying those feelings and let them stew, I chose to share them fearing for the worst…

During that time, it was hard to control my temper. Don’t think I had any full blown outbursts, but I did got snippy towards Hubby and, to my horror, Gru. I recognized my attitude soon after, but damage was done. Got nailed to the wall, lesson learned and I shall try harder come next time…

With all of my struggles, I actually came out all right. Hubby helped me with His loving care and support. Gru guided me with His wisdom and a firm hand. I feel comforted, relieved, and loved. I am in good hands and I feel I can finally let go of the control have over myself and trust that I’ll be loved no matter what. So, thank you Hubby and Gru for loving me and trusting me. I promise I’ll never stop being me =D!

Emptiness

I remembered the time when mom was struggling with cancer. Her friends would come over and chat with her. Many of them were Buddhists and they often mentioned about the concept of Emptiness. Don’t truly believe any of them knew what that meant and entailed, but they talked about it anyway. Back then I figured they were referring to letting go of everything. Material things, status, and money. Those I could understand but friends and family?! I always thought it was an ludicrous idea, but if that’s what made my mom feel better, Emptiness it was. At least she tried to grasp at the concept. Don’t think she’d succeeded.

Time to time again I thought back to their conversations. What does Buddha really mean by Emptiness? And as weird as it may sound, I thought about the titles that we often assign to ourselves: mother, daughter, wife, sister, and so on. Those titles compartmentalize us into neat little boxes. They define who we are and thus we conform to them. When my mom was in her final life stage, I could sense fear. It wasn’t fear of her own death, but it was fear that I may stop loving her if I were to found out I was adopted. So she kept the secret into her death bed. It was years later that I found out about the truth, but that’s a story of another time.

What if we strip away our titles and lables? We will then become individual entities that’s a bit more nebulous. While individual entities are unique, certain similarities and differences often create the bond that ties two entities together. Her and I were just individuals brought together by fate. Although flawed, she loved me, protected me, and cared for me. She taught me math, she encouraged me to persue my career, and she wanted me to succeed. Adopted or not, daughter or otherwise, I’d still love her as I do now. I am just an entity that’s reciprocating the love and care she had given me years ago. Maybe if she could overlook the nuances of her title, she’d be able to focus on the love instead. She’d feel the love and care I’d given to her when she struggled. She’d find her peace and happiness in the end.

I don’t think Emptiness means a complete void. Think the overarching concept is to let go of things and titles that define us. A bit of scary thought because without those, then who am I? It forces me to focus on Buddha’s other concept of Not-self. The body I am currently in are not mine, beccause it will age, die, and decompose. The thoughts in my head are not mine, because they are fleeting, transient, and often brought on by something else. The soul I have is not mine because it bounds from one entity to another thus the concept of Karma. Having said all of that, does not mean I can do whatever I want with this body because it’s not mine, nor let this mind run wild because it’s not mine. No! as a steward of this body, mind, and soul I have the responsibility to cultivate them and care for them. How? Take care of the body by eating right and exercise. Take care of the mind by focusing on the present. Take care of the soul by loving and giving instead of hating and taking…Think…that’s part of the message that Buddhism is trying to convey. By no means I’ve figure it all out, but felt like I’ve gotten closer…

Just one of those weird things I think about at 4 in the morning…

Feminist vs Femininity

There is a difference between feminist and femininity. I feel people now a day tend to get the two confused. Take my mom for example, she was the very definition of a feminist. My grandmother, on the other hand, was feminine. Two very different tempered women who were important in my life. Both of them had taught me lessons that I am just beginning to grasp.

In my mind, my grandmother was undoubtedly the matriarch of our family even though my grandfather was head of the household to the outside world. She didn’t acheive that status via shouting nor competing with my grandfather. She did it with elegance and grace. She supported my grandfather in ways he’d never realized. Yet she never flaunted her way of being her. She was an quiet individual, but she was very observant of others. Ask her what each of her children’s strengths and weaknesses were, she’d nail it 100% of time. She never played favorites and she’s always fair. She treated people with kindness and had helped a lot of people without grandfather ever knowing.

We weren’t super rich, but rich enough to have 24/7 help whom I often refer to as my nanny. To many, my nanny was just a servant and was treated as such. To my grandmother, my nanny was treated with decency and respect and that’s what I love about my grandma.

There were many flaws in my grandfather as I came to know. Yet growing up, my grandmother never raised her voice to tear my grandpa down. So I was oblivious to his flaws until I mature and was able to judge a character through my own eyes. The way she carried herself, the way she spoke, and the way she dressed. Everything about her was the epitome of femininity. I wanted to be like her one day and that desire has never changed.

My mother…oh! I love her…I really do! However, I do not love her feminist way. Everything was a competition to her. She wanted to be the best, the number one in everything. She used that in her arguments aginst my father numerous times and she would teach me to be strong and independent. When my father would mention about something he did, she’d follow with “I can do it, and I can do it better”. Sounds familiar? That irked my father to no end, and that attitude was one of the many elements that contributed to a doomed marriage. Of course my father was no better at being a husband and those two butting heads was like a bomb going off in our house. Our neighbors several houses down could hear them fight. Whats the point with all those huffing and puffing?! It really does not matter who was right and who was wrong. A relationship was torn to pieces because both of them were too stubborn to admit their wrong and apologize! I never wanted to be like my mother, yet at one point in time I was exactly like her…

Now I’ve regained my balance and was able to look back as an observer. Everything is clear to me of whom I want to become. Without either one, I would not have known the good from the bad. Life has a weird way of showing me the lessons that I needed to learn. But going forward I shall. There’s still lots to learn!

Contemplating

I had most of today to relax and do nothing but contemplate. It’s very different from being lazy mind you. Yes physically I was not doing much, but my mind was going 100mph thinking, just… thinking. Ever since we called off M/s, I did a lot of soul searching. During which process, I spoke to both Hubby and Gru about relationships ad nauseam. Felt like I’ve talked my head off and I still have a lot more to cover. One rabbit path lead to other and I still don’t have a cohesive thought. So I decided to come here to just write and share. Maybe it will help clear my mind a bit.

I don’t really see our halt in D/s as a failure. Not really upset by it either. Looking back, I didn’t have a clear thought or direction as to why I need D/s in my life. I knew it wasn’t really the kinkery or sex that drew me in. It was something else that’s a bit intangible. During our trial phase I felt like a blind leading another blind who was my Husband. I didn’t know what I really needed, so it was impossible to convey my unknown needs to Him. I got frustrated that I felt that way, thus I wanted to stop and reevaluate what I truly need to flourish in a relationship so that I can give back in ten fold…Love, safety, and freedom I concluded.

Love and safety I have. I have two men who love me unconditionally, and I know both of them will fiercely protect me from any harm. Freedom is something I struggle to find. Of course I am free to do whatever I want and free to speak what’s on my mind, I am talking about freedom from myself. We’ve often hear the phrase that we are our own worst enemy or critics. I can absolutely attest to that. Take the painting I paintend the other day for example. Myself critic was saying that I could’ve done better. The painting was only half way finished. It’s not done, it’s not finished, don’t look! I recognized all that and I had to tear myself away and silence the inner critic so I could enjoy rest of the day. Sometimes, I just don’t have that level of self awareness and control. I can get so worked up in my mind that I could no longer help myself. I’d loathe myself for things I had done or thought. It can be absolutely debilitating at times and those are the times that I am furthest from freedom and peace.

I feel like I really can find that freedom with the help from a dominant. Someone who can promptly recognize a change in my thought process and judge if that change is for good or bad. While I do not wish to constantly rely on the dominant to recognize those changes in my mind, I do want some form of guidance when I feel lost or when I am beating myself up so badly that I wanted simply to disappear. A simple command of kneel can sometimes pull me out of a spiral just as effectively as a spanking. In those moments, I want a sharp reminder that the thoughts I’ve constructed in my head are not real and not true. That those thoughts are just transient and will disappear with time. Think that’s what I truly needed in a D/s relationship. Is that sense of freedom and stability. Rest will just naturally fall into place when I am not constantly bogged down by my “inadequacies” that my mind tends to make up.

Don’t know…still thought in progress. No, I am not in a negative spiral. I am just extra contemplative today.

A Long Lost Hobby

Today hubby and I went to one of those Sip and Paint event with my coworkers. We met goal at work a few months back, so we were treated to paint our pets for an afternoon fun together. Initially hubby was reluctant to participate, but we had two no shows so he graciously agreed to join. It was our first time painting together and it was surprisingly fun!

While I am no stranger to painting, hubby on the other hand, had never touched a paint brush in his life. To see him trying and having fun really meant a lot to me. It’s a different type of emotional support. A feeling of security that he was there for me and with me sharing the moment together regardless what the end product looked like. Granted it was after several glasses of wine on his part that he was able to relax and paint. He never complained and was really into the whole experience! Shall post here for a little show and tell. Here, he really did an awesome job on his horse! Don’t you think?! I am super impressed!

For me, I felt like I was walking down the memory lane as today’s event unfolded. Before I had my mind set on being a vet, I actually wanted to be an artist. An animator to be exact. I had my portfolio ready and required courses taken to gear myself for Passadena Art Center. Changed my mind in the last minute, because I didn’t want to associate art with work and work with art. Art, I came to realize, required inspiration and it simply do not follow timelines. Felt I’d hate drawing for deadlines, so I switched my focuse to science and medicine.

I completely lost my sense of time as I sat there and painted today. I thought about all those hours I sat in those art studios just sketching and painting away when I was small. It was my happy place, a place I could escape to. I didn’t need to think or worry about anything else other than the painting right in front of me. My art works were one of those very few things that my parents were legitimately proud of me for…And one event lead to another, I stopped painting all together.

Although extremely rusty today, I found that many of my muscle memories were still there. The motions of loading brushes with paint and mixing colors were all there. The feel of dragging my brush against the canvas felt extremely familiar. My painting skill is still somewhat intact! It’s a huge relief for me, because I was a bit apprehensive that I have regressed in these past 15 years. Four hours of painting and I present you this.

I had fun. A lot of fun with hubby today. Would love to do that again. Shall suggest it for our Christmas party this year!

Hubby, thank you soooo much for today! I love you and hope to have many more paint-togethers with you in our future!

Kit

Introducing Gru

Was going to write about something else today, but one thought lead to another and my mind just want to focus on Gru.

Love Despicable Me when it first came out. Love the father-daughter relationship between Gru and his daughters. Love even more that he was so kind to adopt those girls as his own. A happily ever after story for me to find a father like him…

Years later, I am now granted with that life long wish. I am adopted once again. This time into the arms of someone who is proud of me, loves me, and sees me as his little girl…

I was kept in the dark of my adoption status growing up. Everyone knew except for me. When I was living with my grandparents, I had always wondered what my father would be like. Was he kind, was he strict, was he caring, was he scary? I’ve always had those questions swirling in my head, because I only interacted with him once or twice. One of which involved him dragging me down the streets of Shanghai, going through department store one by one, looking for a bicycle with training wheels. We walked and walked and walked because he was too cheap to use public transportation. I remembered I was tired and exhausted, but he was relentless until we found a bicycle he liked for me. That bike sat in our mud room for years after. Think I rode it once or twice, managed to get a nasty scraped knee, and that was pretty much my memory of my interaction with my dad in the early days.

Before moving in with my parents, my wish for a good father never waned. Always saw children hand in hand with their father in parks and zoos, or kids riding on the back of their dad’s bicycle morning and night to and from school. I want a father like that I thought. I hear stories of fathers spanking their children because they care, I secretly wish that my father was of the same. I saw fathers in aprons cooking for his children, I too wanted a father just like that! There were a lot of wishes that were never fulfilled with my then adoptive dad. He was quite the opposite as I later found out.

Coming here to America was not an easy feat. I internalized a lot of my fears and uncertainties. New language, culture, and friends. The hardest thing for me to adjust was living wth my parents. Their relationship was volatile, something I’ve never experienced when I lived with my grandparents. Sometimes I could see and taste the tension between them and those were the moments I cower wishing I could somehow disappear. My father was not the father I had imagined him to be. Instead of building me up, he would tear me down. I feared and disliked him most of the time. I lost my voice and myself living with him. At times I wondered if he truly was my father. If he truly loved me… The answer was loud and clear when I got abandoned after my mom passed. My dream for a good father had died with it.

For years after, I was bitter and angry. I was depressed and numb. Didn’t know why, but I suppose my father had a lot to do with my unpredictable moods. Marriage was strained and work was stressful. It was an unsustainable life style until Gru showed up unexpectedly.

I call him Gru because he pretty much is one with his annoying girls in tote. Oh the suffering! Adopting a girl such as me probably had shortened his life by ten. Woe is him! *sticks my tongue out!* Secretly though, I know he has a lot of love to give.

All jokes aside, he is now the rock in my life. He is everything I had wished for in a father and more. He is teaching me life lessons that I wished I had learned decades ago. He is kind, he is loving, he is funny, but he can turn dead serious in split second to get my attention. He is not my friend, he’d say. He has no problem nailing me to the wall for things I’ve done wrong. When lesson learned, he’s back to his goofy self and fun is to be had for all. He is the guardian of my marriage. When things goes wrong between hubby and I, he’d be our arbiter. He’d walk us through our shortcomings and safely guide us to reach the other side. He is intelligent and knowledgeable like that of a Renaissance Man. He’d read me stories or share me articles that’d make me think. He’d walk me through the world to satisfy my ever quizzical mind. I can go on and on about him to make him blush. But in the end though he is simply my father whom I love and respect. I will always be his little girl though, his pride, and joy. I’ve finally found my father and his name is Gru.