While sitting on my chair, face buried at the screen in front of me, doing reports that’s making my head ache, I took a break. Closed the window and open a new blank page and found myself writing this, what is this, now that’s the question.

I think about the time my father and I used to sit side by side, coffee in hand watching sports—probably a basketball game, no doubt about that.

I can see my old self, spouting expletives marines might get jealous as it is not fit for a lady like me for saying stuff like that.

Who says I act like a lady anyway.

That’s how the way I am, I was, and my father knew that. I’m a hot-headed woman I think I got it from him anyway, the only thing I’ve got, he could’ve give me his height but no, sigh.

I talked trash and cursed a lot, that’s how I used to watch a game. And I remember him saying nothing, as if I do not exist and just enjoy watching the...