Never Heard the I Love Yous

Gary Dy, University Professor

I never heard those “I love yous”. I grew up in a household with a Chinese father and a half-Chinese, half-Filipino mother.

I remember on Saturdays that my dad would bring me to cinemas in Cubao. I grew up watching Filipino movies. It was humorous. I would laugh at Filipino comedy. After watching, he goes on drinking sprees with his friends. Never heard of the I love you’s. I learned humor.

On school days I would study hard, get good grades. But surprisingly, I would show my dad grades of 96 or 97, which I am proud of, only to get his straight-faced reply of “97 lang?” It was disheartening. More so, of perfect scores where he would reply with his usual straight-faced, “ok”. Still, never heard of the I love you’s. Just plain deep voice. I learned to persevere.

The family never went to church together. Maybe it was the culture that they were raised into. Instead, we usually spend our Sundays at home having lunch together with his sumptuous Chinese rice braised inside pork intestines. He would slow cook it for several hours until it is tender. Sill, never heard the I love you’s. Just a silent Sunday, filling our stomachs with a great lunch. I learned to cook well.

It was never the I love you’s. I brought the love my dad has never spoken. I knew much that being him is his way to say he loves us. I learned to humor the way he wanted me to. I think he believes we need humor to enjoy all the things we do. I also realized well that he sent me to school not to learn 97 or 98, or even 99 percent. He sent me to a good school so I can learn 100 percent. That in everything that I do, whatever the outcome, I should still give my 100 percent. All while enjoying my humor with it.

And at the end of it all, learning to cook would cap all the hard work. I learned to relax with good food the same way as he does. Meticulous and spot on. But then it was through asking if I had my meal equates to the I love you’s that I was looking for. He wanted that I enjoy comfort. That his culture as a Chinese limits him from saying those 3 words. That his faith may differ on how to express himself to us. That his actions would equate to how he would show his love to us. He never spoke those I love you’s. But he doesn’t need to. He made us feel that we were loved.

He died in my arms, I was hoping for him to say those three words to be his last. It never came. No need to. His unspoken love brought me to who I am enjoying right now. I always wanted to hear those words only to realize that instead, I have been feeling that fatherly love since. Love may differ in faith, but still, respect remains. Dad.