Listening to songs new and old on my iPhone while at work.
Was listening to Lumineers when one of their songs had the similar scale to Boyzone's, "Words" and I thought, "Hmm, that's next."
Song reminded me of the time when it used to be on top of the charts and I was in love with Ronan Keating's husky voice and how his breathiness would come through in the second bridge and he would sigh, "Hhhit's only words, and words are all I have, to take your heart away."
That song used to be #1 for weeks.. perhaps months in my teenage mind.
That meant it would be the song that would wrap up the top of the charts show on television, drawing closer to the hour.
Just in time for Abu's headline news on BBC.
We'd fight over the controls, more like siblings than father and child. I'd protest that the news were the same as the hour before, and the one before that. He'd say the song was unchanged.
I'd be shushed into silence by Ami and she would point out that I was being rude. Which I probably was, and she was right to do that.
Except, Abu started calling me out of the room nearing the hour so I could listen to my song instead of him watching the BBC headlines.
It's things like these that I cherish. That make me want to be more and more like him. To figure him out more as he's getting older and returning towards his childhood. So I can be that kind of child. That kind of adult. And that kind of parent.
I get it. He's a man, and I'm a (girly) girl and the thought of wanting to emulate my dad to be that kind of human, as compared to being the kind of human my mum is, might be surprising.
Just that Abu is squishy. He is vulnerable. He has always been generous with saying that he's sorry. And telling me, and all those who matter, that he loves them. He closes his eyes when he hugs me. I see his dimples when I kiss him on his cheek.
I've shared more reflection with him on human relationships and the human condition itself than any other human being. Even Ryz.
Not because of the number of words we shared, or the hours we've spoken.
Rather it was the sheer timeliness of the moment that we shared it in. When I felt vulnerable. Lost. Confused. Or when he felt that he must be strong, and my father, the protector. He would let me speak words of encouragement to him, and allow himself to listen.
It was one of those exasperated heart-to-hearts when I exclaimed to Abu, [about Ami]: "It's like I have to wait in line for her attention!"
To which he replied, "I have to wait in line too."
Whether he did or didn't, or whether I was correct in summing up Ami's distribution of love in such a trite sentence was besides the point.
Content was never the issue. Nor was it ever about being politically correct. It was about understanding the root, and accepting it. It was the context.
Even now Ami half-complains, half-marvels at how Abu and I argue like siblings, like equals.
So yeah, I'm a girly girl who wants to be every bit of my father because my father raised me to disregard content and value context.
