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| Photograph of myself - 2020 |
One of the oldest questions I’ve ever wrestled with is this: “Whose image do I carry?”
I grew up with just one parent; my mom. Life with her was full of ups and downs. It wasn’t easy. A lot happened and there are countless stories I could tell someday.
I do remember snippets of my childhood, though. Moments that feel like fragments of a dream. I remember sitting on my dad’s lap, spinning the steering wheel of his blue Mitsubishi L200. I remember the excitement of the gifts he’d bring home from Port Moresby and other big places. I recall how he brought electricity into our home, lighting up wooden houses with the hum of a generator. Our plates were always full, meals overflowing with variety.
Back then, I called someone “Papa.” That word carried so much warmth. But it didn’t last. When I was just two or three years old, my dad left. Not for a short trip or a work assignment. He he left for good. I remember watching him walk away. And just like that, “Papa” was gone from my vocabulary.
Mom told us he wasn’t coming back. We slowly accepted it. I never understood why, but we were even prohibited to call Papa's name. The few memories I had of him faded over time. I couldn’t even picture his face anymore. We had photo albums, sure, but I never had a photo of him to keep. That part of my life felt like it had been erased.
Still, as the years passed, one question remained in my heart: “Do I look like my dad?” Nobody ever told me, not even my mom. That is, until a stranger gave me an answer that changed everything.
A Stranger With Answers:
It was January 7th, 2017; a day I’ll never forget. The morning sun broke through the cold misty mountains, with golden rays sneaking through roughly woven blind. We were in Kakaliaka Junction for an awareness that UPNG KSA Students carried out. As the chairperson, I was leading the event, starting off with the necessary intros.
The crowd was massive. Their murmurs echoing with curiosity and anticipation. As I stood to speak, I noticed an elderly woman in the audience who wouldn’t take her eyes off me. She smiled warmly and whispered to the woman beside her regularly.
As soon as the awareness ended, the woman approached me with a solid face. She wrapped her arms around me, and said, “So, you really are my son.”
I was stunned. My mind raced with questions. Who was this woman? Why was she calling me her son?
Sensing my confusion, she explained, “Do you know whose son you are? Do you know where you’re from?” She continued, “I’m Kaipae’s wife. Did your mother ever tell you about Kaipae?”
The name struck a chord. My mom had mentioned Kaipae before; a close friend, relative, and business partner of my dad. He was a prominent businessman in our district back in the 1980s. Though I had never met him or his family, I had heard of his name enough to feel a little connection.
The woman told me something that left me speechless: “Your forehead, your nose, your ears, your smile, even the way you speak; it’s all your father. That’s how I recognized you immediately.”
In that moment, I realized I carried my father’s image. My heart swelled with emotions I barely put into words. That stranger; Kaipae’s wife; had given me a gift I didn’t even know I needed.
Know This:
Whether your father is with you now, has left, or was never part of your life, one truth remains: You carry his image.
You are not a mistake. You are not a mystery. You are the reflection of your father’s legacy. So, stand tall and proclaim it with confidence: “I WAS, I AM, AND I WILL ALWAYS BE MY FATHER’S CHILD.”
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