I could spit on a stranger.

My father never carried me as a baby. That’s my little brother Janiel that he’s holding. I only met him when I was 10–on Christmas Day. I never ever hated him for not being with me as I was growing up. My mother made me understand the situation, and I understood it perfectly.

On the night of September 11th 2001, I was alone in our house watching the television as my parents were finalizing their papers for their US Visas–their destination was New York. I was always traumatized by 9/11 even though I was so far away. I just saw two giants crumbling in New York and it totally horrified me knowing that my father would go there soon. I mean, that took a lot of balls, man.

I never got to watch Mickey Mouse live while my father raised me high. That’s my little brother, Jonash at Disneyworld. There’s a heap of things that I want to do with my father right now: fishing, skiing, watching an IMAX movie, going to a strip club, etc. etc. etc. I guess I’ll get to do when I leave for the States to be with my family.

Anyway, Happy Birthday Pa! I love you! I know I still don’t have a gift for you (for years already), but I swear to God; give me two years or so and I’ll give you the best gift a child could evar give: A diploma (and maybe a grandson, Hey!).

Oh, and even if you never carried me or lifted me high up as a baby…

At least I learned how to stand on my own and follow them ladies’ legs.