Titanic realizations

I’ve watched Titanic a million times, watched Rose tell Jack, “You jump, I jump,” watched that ship get split in half and watched all those dead bodies float in the cold sea. For a time, I kept dreaming of the same thing happening to the ship where my dad works. Then last September 27, it almost did.

It was an island they were going to hit instead of an iceberg as in Titanic. Their ship’s machine and generator were broken so the ship was just anchored to one buoy. Four ropes attached to the buoy were torn and because the wind was strong that time, the ship was pushed closer and closer to the island. Their captain let out the General Emergency signal. There was a lot of panicking and crying. Good thing that a tug boat, a small but powerful boat that helps larger ships maneuver, prevented them from hitting the island.

It was a nasty, nasty feeling when I found out about this, not just because my dad could have possibly died there, but because I was just telling a friend that afternoon that I don’t care if my dad never contacts me again, except when it comes to my monthly stipend. See, it’s an understatement to say that my dad and I don’t have the best relationship in the world. My mom and dad are estranged couples for more than a decade now and both have significant others which I’ve come to terms with. My dad and I were never close because he was always abroad and when he isn’t, he lives with his girlfriend. There’s a whole sordid story behind it that is best for another time.

Anyway, that afternoon, my friend and fellow Iskolarium reporter Katherine Lopez, interviewed me for their group’s Comm Res 101 paper on the communication between OFWs and their families. I had some really harsh answers, everything boiling down to me not caring if my dad and I never speak to each other again as long as he continues to send my allowance. So you could just imagine the guilt, that ugly, constricting feeling, when I found out about the Titanic-like experience. It was horrible and to find out about it in an internet shop where I have no friend to talk to, only a monitor mocking me with the email bearing the news, just made the feeling worse.

I realized that I would very much care if he never calls or emails me again. Even though we only email each other once or twice a week, those emails were a source of comfort after all. A comfort that even though we only see each other a couple of times a year, that he was just out there.

The same day, I emailed back more than my standard response that I’m okay, acads are fine (even though they’re really not), how are you, etc. I told him to take care, and I actually told him about my day which I rarely do.

I don’t want to become one of those people that only get close to their estranged parent, that only get to open up when it’s too late. After all, everything is not entirely his fault. I should meet him halfway. I don’t want to reach the point that the only time that I’ll talk, the genuine and meaningful talk that goes beyond pleasantries, to him would be at his deathbed or coffin. I’ve already wasted almost 12 years; I don’t want to waste any more time.