Do you know how hard it is to fall for you again?
     A second time?
     After two years have gone by without you?
     After two years of me hating myself for what I did...

     It feels like torture.

     I miss you,
     I miss our pillow fights,
     Our inside jokes,
     The passing of notes we did, almost every day...

     It killed me at first,

The Art of Being My Dad

My dad was born into poverty in the tiny seaside village of Agat, Guam, in 1952. His mom died when he was a child, and he never knew his dad.

He was raised by his uncle’s family in another small village, Piti, after being separated from his brothers and sisters.

So he grew up without parents, pained by the fact that his father was never there for him, tormented by helplessness as his family was split up.