For my DAD

"All the these line across my face tell you the story who I am
So many stories of where I have been but this story don't mean
anything if I got no one to tell it true"


Been some days since I decided to quit my job and chase my dream. In some ways, I am living that dream, yet the purpose with which I began seems to be drifting away. It’s a hard decision because I know the financial struggles my family carries, and sometimes I wonder if I have failed them as a son.

Through everything, my parents have always supported me — even during the days after graduation when I was lost and wanted to begin a career in films. Relatives were against it, people questioned my choices, and even someone I loved dearly couldn’t understand what I was trying to do. I was so uncertain about my future that I shaved my head in frustration and confusion.

My father, who is much softer by nature than my mother, went through a friend to meet one of the biggest directors in our place and personally requested him to take me in as an assistant. Because of that chance, I left my Master’s degree behind and stepped into the world of cinema.

I was doing well, and later Dad encouraged me to study further so I could grow in my craft. That is how I ended up attending a short course at .

I do not speak much about my mother because she rarely spoke about my career. She believed I should become responsible enough to earn what I truly wanted in life. Yet strangely, even though I am more open with my mother, it is my father who has silently carried so much for me and for our family.

I still remember the day we learned that Mom had carcinoma. Dad cried quietly, wiping his tears before I could fully see them. I was trembling inside, but I held myself together because I knew if I broke down, he would too. My heart was crying that entire time.

Dad has cried many times.

He cried when my friends visited in their own vehicles.

He cried seeing me wear the same pair of pants and a few T-shirts over and over again.

And even today, I feel he still cries silently — yet somehow he always manages to smile.

I rarely call him because every conversation makes me emotional. Deep down, I carry guilt because I know I have hurt him many times. Yet every single time, he has continued to support me. And now, once again, I feel like I am about to hurt him with another difficult decision — yet he still stands beside me and still manages to smile.

Am I a bad son?

Dad, I love you.

I have never said that enough.

I still remember the day you sent me a message that simply said:

“Nanao, I love you.”

I was so happy that I cried that night.

I am sorry for all the pain I have caused you, and for the pain I may cause again. I have decided to come back home. I know you never wanted me to return because you were afraid I would feel embarrassed in front of my friends — because we do not even have a house of our own. I know you never wanted me to face the humiliations that you faced.

But Dad, I need you now.

I want to stand beside you again.

I want to live under your shadow for a while longer.

This is for you, Dad:

I love you.