I’m perfectly content with how I live. Sure, it gets lonely and these four white walls are the only witnesses — the only refuge I seek after a tiresome day. These mute witnesses: my stuffed animals, my computer, my clothes that are scattered everywhere due to cancelled plans, and dust piling up on untouched floors are the reasons why I feel less empty.

I’ve come to notice that romantic partners aren’t for me. I don’t think any man has ever made me feel less complete when I’m not with him. Why would I get into a relationship — and risk getting my heart broken — with someone that is not even half of my dad? Sure, my dad is a careful man. He’s not the wisest man ever, he still has his childish side, but he resonates with me in a way that I don’t need any man but him.

He loves me in a way that I want to be loved. I’m not much of a talker, so he doesn’t always expect me to talk. I’m not much a of sappy person, so he doesn’t always expect me to kiss him on the cheek every night when he gets off work. I’m stern, and so is he. I love sweets, and so does he. My dad and I are the same, the byproducts of mistreatment and childhood sob stories.

I think he goes out of his way to be a perfect dad just so I don’t rely on any other man but him. Because, God.., men are terrible sometimes. I’ve been hurt, I’ve screamed and cried for a man. I hurt myself and do extravagant things for a man in the name of “love” and nothing else but love. No fancy dinners, no romantic letters, no lavish efforts, no casual dates… just love.

Well, I’m a spoiled girl. I’m spoiled rotten. What I want, I get. My dad makes sure of that. He never says no as long as I’m honest. My dad takes me on brunch dates and when we get home we order ourselves sweets and whatnot. I’ve come to realise that no man has ever done that.

No man has ever done what my dad has been doing.

1. He doesn’t only make sure I’m fed. He makes sure I eat what I want.
2. He dyes, dries, braids, and brushes my hair when other men are scared of losing their masculinity over doing all things ‘girly’.
3. Sure, he may not be the most sentimental father there is (and his only way of showing love and affection is through financial means), but if giving money means he loves me, then so be it (and I’m not complaining).

I look back on my past boyfriends and I wonder what my dad would say. I think he would be greatly insulted. I realise that I haven’t met a man who was willing to put so much effort in me. Maybe I’m undeserving, maybe I need to be a much better person than I am today to deserve that treatment.

I once walked in pouring rain when I was sick because I wanted to be with my boyfriend (he decided he wanted to be with his friends more and got his friend to pick me up and take me home instead). I got sicker after that.

“Can you not smoke in front of me? I can’t breathe well these days.”

All those small requests left unanswered, those desperate attempts to feel loved and be loved. Hell, I wrote him poems. I tricked myself into thinking he was the most perfect person when in reality it was my own thoughts that made him more than just a man.

I compared him to skies, stars, and the universes alike. I heard him in every love song. I saw him in every majestic painting. I felt him in every touch — his or not. I tasted him in every bitter pill I had to swallow because I needed medication to fully recover from everything that happened.

Sure, maybe I’m not as pretty as those girls I saw with the most amazing boyfriends. Maybe I’m just a silly girl with too much expectation.

Maybe I need to be prettier, smarter, and lovelier.

But I only have to be a daughter to have a father like mine.