Weird thing happened two nights ago while I was busy extruding faces and merging vertices (and slowly dying inside because I was starting to feel that I was going to fail the subject i mean, cmon…I’ve already cried twice on it)–My father went to my room with a glass of milk in his hand, patted me on the head and then went to sleep without saying a word. I sort of felt this combination of feelings of shock and awkwardness because it was my father and he doesn’t do that. I mean, I’m not saying he was a bad father because he’s not. In fact, he’s awesome and all it’s just that I only see him on the evenings and he rarely speaks (I never even heard him shout…like ever).
I just want to say it was sweet. And even though the milk tasted like water, that night reminded me that there’s a skinny and bespectacled man who knows how to say he’ll always be there for me in words that never could.