I can't sleep at night; I stare endlessly until darkness swallows the light emitting from the yellow bulb. The chills of the night birth pimples on my skin, and my heart begins to beat heavily. Perhaps it was the quick glance I took when my father was placed into his new home - six feet beneath the ground. But I didn't kill him, maybe I did in a way. The unquenchable thirst for entitlement I had, the recurring requests for financial aid, all the calls I made to him asking for money for handouts I never needed. All these must have driven him towards his ultimate death. But I didn't kill him, maybe I didn't physically, but emotionally.

On his desk lie papers with lists of items I requested and their prices boldly written beside them. I entered his room only after he had passed away. The curtains had holes as if rats had taken a bite of them, the plastic chair was propped up with a wooden stick, and the rusty center table caught my attention. Under it were documents that I found hard to understand their purpose. A room unfitting for a salary man earning a reasonable income; tears rolled down my cheeks. I took a dusty tissue from the windowsill to wipe my nose. My eyes wandered to his bedroom, where crumpled papers lay pitifully on the floor. The bed was in two parts, attached together with discolored threads. A cooking gas cylinder was placed in the corner of the room surrounded by leftover food particles. Some parts of the room had stagnant water, and I gazed at the ceiling where holes punctured by birds' beaks allowed rain to easily penetrate.

Everything I encountered in his house seemed like a dream. A man who used to come home with packs of frozen chicken, bags of rice, and other lovely goodies. I couldn't contain my tears; they flowed out like a malfunctioning generator until a neighbor walked in to lament how good my father was. She shared many good deeds my father did when he was alive in their neighborhood. To be a father is a great responsibility. Now, I begin to fear the life I would live after entering a conjugal contract that brings little joy into my life.

Will I be like my father, or will I live for myself?