Next to God, he as a person is the biggest riddle I want to solve in my life. But try as I may, I just can't. Or won't. Or wouldn't want to. I understand (or do I?) his pains. His agonies. His sufferings. His sacrifices. I couldn't imagine being a root, to endure that heavy burden of bushy leaves, branches and fruits as it grows before your eyes. He's one hell of a man. But a man is a man. There must be impulse decisions. He must have made mistakes. I see it in the shady sketches I found in one of the drawers of my mind called past. Everything was all hush-hushes and whispers from a distant place. It never was confirmed, the voices were so far that reaching at them now is utterly pointless. I don't care either. He makes good advices. He throw words with utmost care, he almost always stumble upon saying it. You can never cut him in mid-sentence. He never shuts up once he starts talking. The world makes sense after spending one day at his company. Sometimes he's brutal. Most of the times he is forgiving. But just like Mother, I never really knew him before he became my Father. It's so hard to reason him outside his religiously grounded philosophies. To argue with him is like shouting on the wall. It's frustrating. But in the end of everything, he's still my father that I believe and respect in all aspects of life
*Randomly written on November 2013
