For You, Daddy

Here I am, sitting on my terribly uncomfortable Ikea couch, in my soon-to-be-old Melbourne apartment. The one I’ll look fondly upon years from now, when I remember the leap of faith—and geography—Curtis and I took in the year following my graduation.

The carpets are tattered and the mold spreads out in faint paisley prints across the bathroom ceiling, but in time, I won’t remember these discomforts. I’ll feel instead the warmth of the beach that was right across the road, and hear the dull roar from the bars on Fitzroy Street, where the locals and backpackers and junkies and lawyers all mingled to breathe in the air that is St Kilda.

Here I am, miles from you and so far away, and yet, every day we are connected. Because it was you who two years ago so plainly suggested that we “go away somewhere,” over lunch at the cozy Irish Pub in Tremblant. It was you who imbued within me a sense of adventure so strong that I begin staring into the distance, searching for a new journey on which to embark, merely months after settling into patterns, still fresh. It was you who showed me a world so big, and a world so accessible, requiring only the courage to reach out and touch it.

So thank you. Thank you for bringing me along to Take Your Daughter to Work Day at the White House when I was nine (even if I paid more attention to the free souvenir backpack than I did to Hillary Clinton’s speech). Thank you for always making me feel safe, not by shielding me from the inherent dangers of life, but by giving me the skills to tackle them head-on (or at least to try). Thank you for guiding me every step of the way on my path to the present (even if that guidance was requested the day before a big paper was due). And thank you for always believing in me.

From Melbourne, Australia, and from the bottom of my heart, happy Father’s Day, Daddy. You will always be my hero. And I will always be your little girl.

I love you,
Lolo