The Silent Room

His footsteps soon became louder, and the doppler effect of his voice made me look up to his direction. He was barefooted, running only in his khaki shorts and orange t-shirt with a brown kitten in his arms. When he got close enough, he held out his short hands, proudly showing me his latest find.

“Nak kucing boleh tak,…” he asked me. “…Ayah?”

I could only look at him with a cheesy grin, and rub his head before warning that he’d be reponsible to feed, wash and take care of the cat. The sight of an innocent 5 year-old boy with a cat in his hands is just too much for me to not smile. Now that he’s off to show his new friend to his mother, I decided to get back to make a mirror out of my loyal 20-year old silver ride…

I have always found it funny that I seem to dream more about a son than a lady companion. I think it has something to do with me always wanting a little brother since my younger days.

On some nights I’d dream that I’d take him to a river where nobody knows, hidden deep in the jungles. On that trip, he’d sprain his ankle, and I would piggyback him all the way back only to have him help pick off the leeches that got stuck on my legs. On cool breezy sunsets, I’d look out the window and think of the things I’d tell him.

Things I’d teach him.

Things I’d show him.

Things I’d give him.

But somehow, no matter how pleasant the dreams or the daydreams may be, I can’t shake the feeling that I would be getting a daughter instead. It’s not that I’d hate having a daughter, it’s just that… I’m afraid of having one. I’m not good with ladies. I don’t know their needs. What they should know, what they should do, what they should have, or what they should learn. I have completely no idea.

Sure, you might say that I should just “leave that for her mother to decide,”. If that’s the case, what about me? She would be my daughter, too. She doesn’t have to do anything, and she’d already be the biggest part of my life. My life would practically revolve around her and her happiness. My world would consist of nothing but making ends meet for her. But you know as well as I do that the opposite doesn’t always hold true.

If I were to be blessed with a daughter, I’d be the biggest paranoid in the world. Seriously.

What if the things I told her would be okay for a boy, but not a girl? What if the things I kept away from her was actually not suitable for boys, but a necessity for girls? I don’t know. I’m completely clueless as to how I should spend my time with her. I wouldn’t know what to talk to her about. I wouldn’t know if she’d like the same things a regular boy would like.

I’d be afraid that if she comes home late, and something were to happen to her.

I’d be extra conscious about who her friends are.

I’d be extra anxious as to what she does, when and where.

I’m afraid that I’d be the very type of parent I hate the most: an over protective one.

But more than anything, I’m afraid that the things I do [or don't do], would annoy her, and that she would distance herself from me, as I have distanced myself from my own parents. I don’t want my own child to distance herself from me. I want to do everything I possibly could, avoid as much mistakes as I can, just so that she doesn’t push me away.

Not to say that I want to cling to her forever – I might as well get a dog collar and chain. But rather, I don’t want her to shove me aside. Just as much as she would be a part of my life, I want to be just as much a part of hers.

I want to hear what a girl has to say about her life.

I want to hear what a girl has to say about her friends.

I want to hear what a girl has to say about the boys around her.

I want to hear what a girl has to say about her problems.

I want to hear what a girl has to say about herself.

I want to hear her talk to me, and not just for her to listen to what I say.

Somehow, I don’t feel this much insecurity during my dreams with a son. When my boy sets out to do something, I would always be waiting with anticipation of the outcome. I’d be waiting to know what he did. Did he climb a tree to get that mango? Did he run away from a rabid dog? Did he fly a kite? Did he get hurt? What colours did he see? What lessons has he learnt.

Somehow, I wouldn’t be so afraid if my boy were to cut his knees from falling during the chase, or if he got ants from the mango tree squirming all over his legs, or if the kite string broke and he lost his kite. I would be able to come up with something good to say to cheer him up, and tell him to do more, even crazier things.

But a girl… I don’t know. I’d be afraid enough if she was trying to cross the street by herself. I really don’t know. Perhaps this is the kind of feeling that fathers have about their little princesses.

At this point, I’m still clueless. I know, I’m still far from there. I just hope I can do it right, because if I screw up, there probably wouldn’t be a second chance.

*sighs*

Oh well…A man can still dream. I think I’ll keep doing that for now, for as long as I can.