I’ve been meaning to share this story, though most of it isn’t truly mine to tell. The heart of it belongs to Shiko, my daughter, the rose that has blossomed from my garden. Today, she turns eight, placing her in that magical age they call the latent stage, where she can be anything she wants to be.
One morn’ she wakes up, whips up some crayons and paints the entire sitting room with silly doodles. I don’t know whether I will ever completely erase all the sketches she has done on our walls with a stolen marker pen. And truth be told, I’m not sure I want to. They’re a part of her, a part of us, etched into the walls of our home and the walls of my heart.
By midday, she’s an A-list actress, a Hollywood diva in a world of make-believe. With an imaginary mink coat draped over her tiny shoulders, she struts around, swaying imaginary hips and waving to adoring fans only she can see.
As the sun begins to set, she transforms again, this time into a dedicated doctor. She meticulously cares for the family dog, and any stray cat that wanders into our compound becomes her unlucky patient.
I am the luckiest father in the world, blessed with an artist, a Hollywood diva, and a caring medic—all wrapped up in one little girl. What more could a dad ask for?
But as much as I cherish this time, I know it’s fleeting. Just as it did with her older sister, this stage will pass. The day will come when she will change, like a caterpillar ready to emerge as a butterfly. And when that day arrives, I will open the door to the world, a world she will soar into with wings I’ve watched her grow.
I will let go. I will open my hands, and tell her: Maitu, it’s beautiful out there, go to the places you can imagine. Go and follow the wonderful things you will be.She will then fly off to beautiful skies.
And beautiful they will be.
What if the skies won’t be kind to her? Will she become the butterfly she was meant to be? What if the world tells her, like it does to all teenage girls, that she can’t be a doctor or a diva or anything else she wants to be? Maybe she’ll come back to me with doubts in her heart and ask if this is true.
When that moment comes, I’ll be there. I’ll wrap her in one of those penguin hugs, the kind that says everything without a single word. I’ll then remind her of the golden truth I’ve known since the day she was born:
“You are ENOUGH, Shiko. A thousand times enough.”
