I remember being nervous the first time I was allowed to ride home on my own…
Following my mother's advice, I always rode near the right side of the road rather than speeding into the middle. Why? If I fell on the right, the vehicle behind would usually be a motorbike or bicycle, so I would not ‘be gone for good.’ In the middle, if I fell and the vehicle behind could not brake in time, it would be a bus, truck, or container lorry… with no second chance at life. This is the thinking that if you cannot eliminate risk entirely, minimize it. Later, in business, I learned it could roughly be called ‘Risk Management.’
At one stretch, I nearly forgot the way home and did not know whether I had turned correctly… After wandering confusedly for a while, I somehow reached the gate… Home at last!
Then, from out of nowhere, Dad rode his motorbike up beside me, patted my shoulder, and said, “Well done, my friend,” and “You took all the right roads, very good.”
It turned out that Dad accompanied me to school that morning, and that evening was my first time riding home alone. But he still quietly waited for me to leave and followed me the entire way.
That is what Dad was like. If I knew he was beside me, he thought I would depend on him and fail to do everything myself. But if he did not accompany me on that first time, what if something happened? So he chose the best solution: he came with me without telling me, quietly checking that everything went smoothly, and only revealed himself at the very end. When we arrived and I saw him smile proudly and say, “Well done, my friend,” I felt so happy and fortunate to be his child. Even now, remembering it still moves me deeply…
Strangely, I always felt some protection, silent but ever present, all along that road home. Like a ‘guardian angel.’ On some stretches I sensed a loving presence watching, caring for, and looking after me. Sometimes I forgot the route, yet it felt as though someone far away were secretly transmitting a voice: ‘Turn that way, turn,’ and I followed. Though I did not look back or think it was Dad, I felt some energy behind me had accompanied me to ensure my safety.
It remains the same even now. That connection is still there.
Every year, as my birthday approached, I received an early greeting from Dad on Facebook, accompanied by an image of a flower basket. This year, that is gone. From Father’s Day to my birthday, Dad is no longer present in physical life for us to exchange likes, messages, questions, and care…
On my birthday last year, I still went into the hospital and stayed overnight to care for Dad.
Dad returned to that blue sky almost 1 year ago. Lately, I have been using his motorbike more often. Although I had not ridden a motorbike for 8 or 9 years, taking my wife and child out on it feels freer and more enjoyable.
I have always felt that Dad truly was a guardian angel who came here to teach, protect, and love me. His soul had work to do in this life, and I have always felt that it gave me guidance and prepared what I needed before departing. That was 1 soul full of insight and wisdom.
The night before Dad's funeral procession, a friend of mine with a disability came to offer incense to him. I helped my friend into and out of the car, but used the wrong posture and painfully dislocated a joint in my arm.
For the funeral procession, the ritual requires carrying 3 things: an incense burner, a memorial portrait and a paper ancestral tablet. I had already been assigned to carry the incense burner, and everything had been agreed. Yet that night, I dislocated a joint in my arm.
The next morning, standing before the coffin, I received the incense burner in my hands. It was the heaviest of all 3. I still endured the pain without telling anyone, simply accepting it. But it truly was heavy and painful. No one knew. My face looked normal. My hands did not tremble.
I whispered, “Dad, I happened to hurt my hand, and now this incense burner is so heavy to carry. Will I be all right moving it along the way, Dad?”
Right then, you know, there was a gentle, cool, refreshing energy. Suddenly, despite all the arrangements, the funeral-service attendant approached and handed the incense burner to my older brother, while I was given the paper memorial tablet.
And that is the lightest thing. As light as nothing.
“Thank you, Dad…”
That is how I have always felt about a soul that has taught and protected me in this lifetime.
On my birthday, the day I was born, I am so grateful to you, Dad… While you were still here, I wanted to write a book about consciousness for you. By the time you passed away, I had still not begun writing it.
Thế mà, chỉ còn vài ngày nữa thôi, quyển sách đó sẽ xuất bản rồi ba à. Bên Alphabooks mua bản quyền, độc quyền xuất bản nó, cùng đơn vị làm cuốn sách Darkness Always Comes Before Dawn trước đây đó ba.
This is the 3rd book I have authored. I dedicate it to you, Dad, in gratitude to the wise teacher who guided me while being my father…
“Thank you so much, Dad. I love you, Dad.”
…
…
“Well done, my friend”
TMT.
