Everyone in the world is mourning over the loss of Godfrey Gao.

The first Asian model to appear in a Louis Vuitton ad. The voice of Toy Story.

.

Perhaps people start to notice of such achievements only when one has passed on.

I'd totally get how his family members, loved ones and friends are feeling right now.

Shock. Grief. Pain.

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And while the world weeps, at the end of the little red dot island - here I am, still grief-stricken over the loss of Papa.

Papa is my all-time superhero, the first man I've ever loved. He has achieved so much - from juggling a full-time job, 2 children and a wife to take care of, and yet, he continuously still set aside time to go for language classes to learn Japanese.

I only knew this from my aunts a few months ago. I'm in awe of you, Papa. Your daughter here wouldn't have the energy to do the same.

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Every time I step foot into the living room, a wave of sadness hits me. Literally every time. I could just visualise you sitting at the chair, watching TV while having dinner, and asking me, "Girl, you come home so late ah?"

I miss that terribly. And now, I am filled with regrets that I didn't get to cherish these moments.

Life can just end abruptly just like that - without any warning.

It's been 6 months, Pa. 

6 bloody months, and this wound still fucking hurts. Everything reminds me of you, and every photo of you rips this wound apart. There's no space to heal at all.

Perhaps there wasn't any closure provided in the first place. My mind keeps playing back to the very day the call was made, and how your blood pressure plummeted right in front of us. These awful events keep playing and playing. Why can't I stop these tears at night?

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Sometimes, the conversations we have had keep replaying in my mind.

My favourite conversation must be - you telling me the goodness of God, and I'd brush you off and say I'm the devil.

And you'd always say, "The Devil will not be allowed in this house! God will never allow."

Funny how you'd play along with what I say. Sometimes, it almost feels like you really did believe that I'm the devil. Sadly, the truth is, a part of me feels like it too.

Yet I tell myself that, if I really was, will I not see you and be reunited with you when I pass on?

For you'd be in Heaven, holding the hands of God's and I'd be condemned to Hell.

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I tried going to church - the very one that you go diligently every Sunday without fail. You were full of praises for the Pastor and his word. I knew I could feel something because I was left sobbing uncontrollably at the end of every session.

I felt so broken, yet comforted at the same time.

I missed you so much, but I knew you were in good hands.

I was lost, yet found at the same time.

Yet, I hated the feeling. I was confused.

I walked out of church telling myself I'd find my way back to God, someday. 

Perhaps that "someday"will come. I know you're looking forward to that day, because I am, too.