chasing time.

My dad is 6o.

I read Izza's post today and found myself nonchalantly counting my dad's age.

He is 60. Like really 60. And 60 is like, old. I always have this absurd idea that my dad will always be around 50. He'll never age. And lots of people said he looks younger than his age. So somehow I sort of lost track of his age years ago as I've stopped counting.

So I guess it never hits me how old he could get. Until now.

And I found myself crying. That's even more absurd.

I always have this mental image that my dad would be there as I progressed in life.

...My dad would firmly shake hands with the man who would take me away from him and take responsibility of me.

...My kids would meet the man who taught me to pray and recite the Quranic verses one by one with tears in my eyes. I want them to grow up knowing this man, not just by name but as a person with whom they have had memories with.

...My mum to have a lifetime spent with the man who took her away from grandpa, to continue their bickering over silly stuffs, cook for this man, and have my family visits them during holidays or weekends.

And now I wonder. How much time do we have left? How much time does he have left?

How much time do I have left? Would there be enough time left to wait for those mental images to actually happen?

I've already lost one man I love this year. Well, actually I've lost him quite years ago but it only drown in me now. I cry like I've never cried before and this is only a man I've known for eight years.

I've known my dad for a lifetime. How much will it hurt then I wonder?

One by one people are leaving me behind. And yet one by one my memories are increasing.

Aren't we supposed to get more forgetful as we grow older? Then how come it works the other way for me?

Back then when we were five or six, if we knew which people who would leave us with more wounds when they left us, do you think we'd be loving them less?