Father was a bank officer before he retired. He works late almost every other day. Only to come home way after dinner. I'd always accompanied him while he's having the leftovers, whenever there is a chance. And of course, if I'm still awake. Since I seldom see him.
One night, while he's having his late meal at home, I grabbed a stool, dragged it near the dining table, and climbed onto it. I then comfortably rest my chin on the edge of the table. It was silent. All I do was, looked at him. I was studying his expression. Tracing the contour and texture of his face. Of him munching away. Of him reading the paper at the same time. As my eyes wander away from him, I found my hands. Curiosity kicks in. I popped a question.
"Why are there lines on our palms?"
While sucking the meat from the bones of his favourite steamed pomfret, spontaneously, he fold and unfold the edge of a leaf from the newspaper.
The thing about me being a child is, I never satisfy of the answers I get. I'd always asked another "Why?". And it's the "Why?" that they always end at. This time, I didn't ask again. For a moment, I thought my eyes was glittering as a sign of agreement.
His answer was tad simple. But this has taught me one thing:
No matter how difficult the question is, there's always an answer. There's always a solution to it. A reason for it. The answer might be right in front of you, without you notice. If you know where to find it.
Whenever I feel lost, I always looked back at this.
Dedicated to a very, very special friend. Though it may be irrelevant, but I hope this can be an inspiration of some sort to whatever difficulties you are facing now.
Pang yau, this is the least I could do.