we never celebrated father’s day, back when dad was still here. so it feels kind of weird writing this.
i can only vaguely recall how his voice sounded like. or the creases on his face. the cream colored sweater he often wore. that big military green coat i still have in the little closet back home.
its weird, its so weird of me to be fine with all this.
i dont remember his date of death.
not his birthday though (19/4).
fuck i forgot that fact on that day.
kind of want to punch myself in the face now. or go put on red music as tribute to my dad, who loved to blast it at impossible volume in sleepy, and freezing tet mornings.