Growing up, I was a stupid kid. I did stupid shit: I stole, I lied, I was careless, hung around with the wrong crowd, I got into fights, I was horrible in school...I guess you can say a normal kid. My parents did the best they could to help me find the right path, but of course how can they do that? I would never listen to them. My father and I, did not have a good relationship. Most of the time, I was always crying. This goes back to me being dumb, getting into trouble, and being punished. I was so use to crying in front of my father that it became a routine. When I turned 16, that's when a lot of things changed. ME. I hated my life. I didn't know who I was or why I existed. Then I discovered art. I saw a painting in the Pasadena Norton Simon museum, 'bust of a woman' by Pablo Picasso. The painting was my reflection. I related to her facial expression, she looked lost. That's when I knew I love art. It was the first time I felt something. I felt alive. Then I went to art school and my life was getting better and better.
Since then, there were less arguing between me and my dad. I changed. He was waiting for me. My parents supported everything I did and I thank them for that. However, I still can't say I love you to my father without wanting to cry. The crying happens because I don't know how to act emotionally around him. Whenever I am emotional, it's because of all the arguing we had in almost my whole life. It just happens, even when I try not to.
Christmas of 2002, I wrote him a letter as a present. I told him that I loved him and I thank him for everything he has done for me. Where would I be if he wasn't so protective? Who would I be if he didn't teach me to be independent and take care of myself? My strength comes from him.
Our relationship is very quiet. We don't talk much. I'm positive that we NEVER had a deep conversation before. I think if we did, both of us probably can't take it (emotionally), and stop the conversation. We're too much alike: strong, reserved, doesn't like to show weakness. We talk about normal things, but never something deep. In my dream, there was barely any dialogue, but you can feel the love in the relationship...I think. You can feel that we loved each other, father and daughter.
I have seen my father cry 2 times in my life. One of those times was when his grandmother was dying. Third time I saw him cry was when I left United States to Nepal, at the airport, outside of the security gates. He knew I didn't want to come back. Since then, he cries at almost every Skype video call. Tonight, I skyped them. They told me they wanted to come to Vietnam in October to visit. This is one of the best news I've had since Stephaney came. My dad said he read the blog post shortly after I posted it. I asked him "Did you cry?" my dad changed the subject and continued to show me around the new house they moved into. After he put the laptop down, I asked again, this time my mom answered "YEAH! He cries at night in bed, WAH! WAH! WAH! I want to know why you didn't dream about me!" We were all laughing.
I hope they come. 
We'll be there.
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