It seems like so long ago when really, it was just late last year. Around this time, Daddy was already in a wheelchair but he was doing really well with his physical therapy. Things were definitely looking up for him and I had to admit I was starting to get excited for his recovery too. His goal was to fly here in Melbourne for the Australian Open.

But, you know, shit happens.

This was one of our good days, though. Stopped by at Cebu Maribago Restaurant before checking in at Maribago Bluewaters. I love that resto. I love the food. Better than the resort’s overpriced one, I have to say. Way better. And with a lot more choices too.

Their clam chowder is always a good choice. And, of course, there’s the crispy pata and baked oysters which are always good choices wherever you go in Cebu unless the restaurant totally sucks at cooking it. I have yet to encounter a resto that does but then again, there’s not a lot of places I used to eat out in Cebu so my experience is not as extensive.

What can be a hit or miss, though, is the mixed vegetables. Which I more often than not end up ordering anyway because I love veggies. Some overcook theirs, while others still have that bit of crunch in it which is a pleasant surprise when it does. This one was probably just okay in that I can barely even remember if it got me singing praises for it.

And then there’s the little huts that I adore. And the forest-y vibe of the whole place, with the greens and browns complementing each other in a harmonious nature-y feel. Watering and maintaining all those plants must be such a chore. I mean, I only have a handful of indoor ones and I suck at watering them consistently.

They’re all still thriving, if you really wanna know. But only because I refuse to mother plants that don’t “thrive on neglect.”

And if you really wanna know, I miss my dad. Like, I really, really, really, really miss him. You have no idea.

Sometimes I have no idea of the depths of my yearning for him, too. And me bawling in my car on the side of the road in the pouring rain is a testament to how much I can still bleed when the band-aid is suddenly ripped off, catching me unawares.

Give me the right song and it’ll have me on my knees.

And yet the masochist in me keeps playing this Spotify playlist that never fails to resurrect memories of my dad. Maybe sometimes you deliberately rouse the pain because pain’s the only thing you got.

Either that, or it could just be the melancholic effects of cheap wine.

*Raven at 3 years old