Until now, every time I hear the song used in that short film, it breaks me again. It pulls me back to memories I didn’t fully understand when I was younger, but now I feel deeply in my chest. It makes me miss my father’s love in a way that words can’t really explain.
The scene where Shael found the graduation gift his dad left before he died moved me so much, because it felt almost the same as my own story. When my dad left me when I was two years old, I didn’t know what it meant at first. I only grew up with questions, with silence, and with pieces of him I had to slowly understand on my own.
Inside a drawer, they found something he left behind for me — something small, but full of care. A formula, hidden away, just in case I would need it when times got hard. It made me realize that even when life was heavy for him, even when we were struggling with poverty, he still thought ahead for me. He carried his pain quietly. He never showed it, never complained, but he still made sure I would be okay.
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He was always kind to everyone, even when he was already exhausted inside. He kept all his burdens to himself, as if protecting others meant more than protecting himself.
And then I learned the truth I never expected to understand so early in life — he didn’t leave because he stopped loving me. He left because his body couldn’t keep up with the weight he was carrying. He died from over fatigue… while I was once lying in his arms.
I never really got to say goodbye. But maybe, in a way, he already said it through everything he left behind — the quiet sacrifices, the hidden care, the love he never stopped giving even when he was already breaking.
Now, when I hear that song, I don’t just feel pain. I also feel him. I feel a father who loved me in silence, and a love that never truly left.
