Bali Travel Update » Fathers http://beautyofbali.info Tue, 17 Jan 2012 01:46:52 +0000 en hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.2.1 Fathers and Daughters http://beautyofbali.info/fathers-and-daughters.html http://beautyofbali.info/fathers-and-daughters.html#comments Thu, 21 Jan 2010 17:24:12 +0000 admin http://beautyofbali.info/bali-news/fathers-and-daughters/ When I was a little girl, my father taking me to the sea. It was not just an ordinary visit, we had to ensure that it is the fourteenth night of the moon, so I counted everything I could on my fingers, the moon would be faster, but the moon only came when you want. Years later, he gave me a ring, which had one of his fingers on the stolen moon. I used to run to the moon, but the car that drove my father was the moon always running after him. I could see it come so close to us, the wind sending our way. The car used for driving fast-May Kolachi that new roads they build only that he and I could travel faster by sea, and also that it can now take a point of reference “, May Kolachi a running sea. Some time, words and phrases undermine the color of your hair is not, and we began to say “oh, just until May Kolachi” every time someone had asked where would we, we. My mother and sister never arrived, even though my father wanted us to go three together. I think sometimes go alone, and you hear the cars passing on the street. There were times when my father and I made both of us do not exist for each other. The wind would feel calm, and while he was driving the car, said I have some things in their ears. I once said, the wind, “I’m about to sink into loneliness.” When Abu wanted to talk about the moon, sitting on the sea, he was the man. He told me that complex things about life, and how to live as a running clock without hands. In order to present themselves to their essence. The waves would crash on its shores. Every word has been transferred to the sea, calm the spirit of water. Everything came into their own roots and coasts. With about fourteen When I told my father that perhaps God does not exist. He mentioned his own time of burnt plastic “in his life, and said,” you come to our roots. “I despised his answer. I got freedom, but only at the cost of a certainty I could not really care. I was just about to enter my life and focus his questioning glance burned my deeper. In all cases, he said: “Yes, you can.” And I did. A few years later, I was told to him: “One is not born into a relationship, you have to deal with every day since the formation of SO-yellow color – the color is not everything.” It was surprising to him, and he is not clear until now how I could say that. When my father speaks English, I Spaniards and Indians, who recalls talking about her heart. He is working with theories, which he described as “theories of the wave.” The whole time he talks about foreign exchange markets and foreign currencies, but the constant is, in its what language is a constant for me: the moon. He had a theory that the moon affects the waves, and so a similar pattern may occur in the foreign exchange market, which also moves as waves. Or that’s what I understand about his sketches. He is with his pen and paper all day, sketching graphs that rise and fall and fall and keep pace with the waves, everything he said to me once, and the story of the teacher had said, “Nations and people are not his childhood, youth and old age. “Early, I learned that the Fibonacci series of numbers has a special significance, for it was also the number of fingers and your hands, arms and Michelangelo believed. My father had always mad eyes, as if to give up, he saw nothing, no known years earlier And all this was really very important – more important than to die, do not laugh or smile. Abu had a terrible girlfriend who left him, it means leaving no man ever else. He told me that before. I learned just two months ago that Bali has ever existed. My Bali was an educated man, he could sing, or compose a tune in a second finger is running on the water. He played drums, harmonica and guitar. He was a friend of my father’s life. They used to play squash together, run along and go along to the office meetings. They used to laugh also. Bali was someone you could get, which gives a solution to any fear, nor why they did not talk to you, or why there is not enough money coming in, he had a solution. He could make you laugh. He had music. In Bali Chacha died, I was three years old. Abu is never the same. And my mother, meantime, his contacts, to name just forget all this death for me. And so I, because there were not made. There must be a man injured. Think of her daughter’s pain is not present. As if to leave Bali and lack of singing and talking and not talking, was not enough. My father is one of the best people I have ever known. Except for an answer, he can give me all the others, and only one person, he told me about all the others. Sometimes I wonder what happened, father-daughter relationships in Pakistan these days, or forever, I do not know. There was a time when the moon shone so clearly not on my street, when I used to know the difference between right and wrong. Now the differences are not quite so clear. Perhaps our fathers, brothers, is when we get older, their friends, instead of living only from a distance in our marriage, work or live, or a party, or what is living. Sometimes I get the feeling that he has reached the age of majority, the relation between a father and daughter dynamics change. If he no longer knows that the girl has become a mature young woman, she has a heart that is incurable or a spirit that is angry, he will miss the beautiful moonlight. This would be a terrible thing to happen to a father who loved his little girl – when she was a little girl – oh so very good. So very good. He took her right gifts, the actual birthday, she took as a princess died at SO-day. I know that my dad bought me the white horse so I could not take my eyes off what could be a magical car behind him, then behind the horse as the magical dust-shine behind Cinderella’s Pumpkin Trail car. He is not interested in it for me for this, it was expensive or inappropriate. [I mean, it was a horse with the golden man and a fierce red light blue on the forehead, then fell to me, it was an ordinary horse, which can lead to a unicorn, will touch a burning. It] was important for me, his little girl, and he saw that I had it. Just as he was sure that I was silver earrings, matching shoes and an exquisite bracelet. When you get older, these things should not drop our heads, like old shoes. It is so important to one hour for a father. He will miss the rest of his life. I think that between fathers and daughters, a sacred duty – but I also think if this trust does not make a difference in their own way of beauty and its shape through the years, when life is lived is a life lost, which would have survived. In my case it was my poetry that has done so. If I had my poetry book ready, I called my father, after several months of absence, and said excitedly “Abu now I’m like you, I’m an entrepreneur too. I wrote my book, there is a risk I took in life, just like you. “Little girls want to be like their fathers to be, it is not just boys who harbor this desire. I was a poet, the moon, he worked as a draftsman of the graphs, it is meaningful, not just himself. We have a meeting place, the Only that it took us several years to realize it. A woman in love is a mystery at all, a father, he is approaching someone approaching mysterious white birds on the water in Karachi, to the moment he disappears saying: “Can I sit here with you? “The sea is lost, it is uncertain, it is always present. This is what I am to you, my father, it is not. That’s what you mean to me too. It is what you are the white bird into heaven draw Karachi, Bali’s haunting voice, keep singing about my life and yours. He is with us. Abu was not clear, I would be for him to Bali, where I grew up. He did not come, but friends who metamorphoses over the Greek nymphs can take place anywhere. We need to be friends, I know it only.

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