Today, the most important person in my life died. Do you know who he is? He was an architectural engineer, and an automobile designer. He always took care of everyone else, and was OCD about everything. Most importantly, he took care of me, although sometimes I just wanted him to leave me alone. He played soccer, and was on a national team, and always thought of me equal to a male. He never let me down, and loved me more than I loved him, his only daughter. He wasn't a man to me; he was so much more; a king, a god. Everyone always told me I looked like my mom; no one ever thought to compare me to him, the man who was more like me in so many ways. Why did he leave me? Why did he leave his only daughter, the one person who loved him more than everyone else? I realized  that when someone commits suicide, the only question everyone asks is: Why? How? What was he thinking? But sometimes, you can't answer these questions. You can't bring someone back from the dead, no matter how hard you try; ask the Genie in the Lamp, I asked him. Today, September 18, 2015, I lost the most important person in my life, my father. And I can't bring him back. I can't ask him to sleep on the couch when I have to study the night before, and I can't ask him to bring me some water when I'm thirsty. I can't ask him to defend me against my mother, and I can't ask him to stop arguing with my mother. That person is dead. He's gone. Everyone keeps telling me that he will live within me, within my heart, but WHERE? I keep searching everyone, and I can't find him. I can't find him anywhere, I don't see him, I don't feel him. Maybe because I'm not trying hard enough. Maybe because I'm still mourning. I read a post on tumblr the night before, about someone writing from a perspective after they die. About how they want to bring themselves back to this world. Is my father thinking about that? When I was a child, I heard so many people called their fathers "daddy".  I tried once; it didn't work. He was always my Baba to me. The person who always cleaned the table, as well as the home. Everyone always yelled at him; he was always cleaning too much, he was always doing too much for the household. Baba was always set on a routine, and always called the gods' names. But what have the gods done for him? Baba is the love of my life. No one can ever replace my Baba. No one is as straight forward, as kind, as sweet, as caring as he is. No one is willing to try his/her best to put my needs above his/hers. There is now only one question I can ask myself: what will I do without Baba? Now that I have quieted down, I know what I have to do: I have to move on. WITH MY BABA. The man who I love with all of my heart, my being. I will always cry, a tear in my eye every time I think about him. It's so funny because I thought that the most important death in my life was that of my grandmother. But now, it is my Baba. Now, with him in my heart and my mind, I will move on towards my education, my future. I will become a neuroscientist and study the brain for the rest of my life. I have a feeling that's what he'd want me to do. After all, I can feel him now; I've started to believe. He will never leave my side, I know. And for the rest of my life, I will never leave his.