MY MOTHER keeps saying this: ?Hay naku, Aya, you complain about your Papa, but you watch, someday, you?ll marry someone just like him!? And I get really scared.

For he can be strange, my father.

Like when he showed me the floor plan of our new house by marking the floor of the old house with duct tape, then taking me on a virtual tour of the new house on it. ?No, you?re not in the study. This is the study here. No, that?s not your bedroom, that?s your brother?s.? I pretended to understand what he was saying just to get over the episode.

My dad is weird. So is my Lolo, and my Tito Dodie. During Sunday family lunches or dinners, the discussion veers wildly from who voted for Con-Ass, to Hayden and Katrina, to my Lola talking about the maid she just fired, and finally back to Con-Ass but this time who voted against it. If the men of the family aren?t involved in the conversation, if they?re not the ones making the main point, they?d be playing with table knives or staring into space. Or my Dad would be telling my brother not to play with the knife even as he?s doing it himself.

Papa likes staying up late at night, surfing the Internet for watches, clocks, lamps, fountain pens and other curios that can be found by clicking link after link. ?Bili kayo ng bili ng clock [You keep on buying clocks],? Lolo grumbled, ?Palagi naman kayong late [But you?re always late].?

When we were moving house, Papa discovered on Google supposedly cancerous elements in pre-fabricated bathroom shelves. That pushed him into designing our bathroom closets, and he made sure there would be space for Mama?s boots.

That Papa is odd complements how Mama is. They?re two peas in a pod, laughing at two in the morning over a joke only they can understand, bickering about some old TV show?s theme song, pushing each other about whose turn it is to make coffee. They talk, and how they can talk to each other like nothing else matters.

High school crush

When I was in high school, I had a crush on this boy who must remain anonymous, every bit a nerd as my father is, with the same peculiar mannerisms. I wasn?t attracted to him because of his looks. (Trust me, there wasn?t much. My brother was mortified and our driver duly noted: ?Gusto mo ?yon? Parang pwede mo na siyang maging lolo [You like him? He looks like your grandfather]!?

But I had the most memorable conversations with the boy. Never before had I met someone my age who could talk as much about literature, film, politics and sports. He was so unlike the others, he wasn?t a jock, he wasn?t a ladies? man, he was like...Papa. With clothes always crumpled, hair never combed.

It was then when I first realized marrying someone like Papa wouldn?t be too bad. Sure, there were times he would tell me things that would make me think, ?Wait, what? Did he just say that?? But all in all, if conversation that could go into the wee hours was the tradeoff, then it couldn?t be that bad, right?

Besides, Papa isn?t all that insane. I mean, he might have been caught on TV calling the president a ?****ing fascist,? but that?s because he genuinely believes the country is being torn apart by people with no ambitions other than to fatten up their wallets, and nothing is being done to stop it.

He?s also an amazing support system, and has always been there to give me advice and encourage me in whatever I do. He wants me to give the best of what I have, not to make him look good or so his parenting would get praised, but because he believes that the one percent I can contribute to the world will make it a better place. He will not let me buy the clothes or the shoes I want, but the books I want to read are mine for the asking.

I watch the way he is with Mama. Sometimes, he?s a little masungit, but really, it?s because he?s stressed out with trying to make it perfect for her. He isn?t the best with showing his emotions, but he does it by giving her respect, and trusting her to make good decisions for all of us. When she was diagnosed with breast cancer, a TV reporter asked him if their relationship was still going strong. He didn?t so much answer as look at the reporter with an expression akin to askance: The implication that his relationship with Mama had gotten weaker was so foreign to him he couldn?t formulate the words to rebuff that reporter?s assumptions.

Perhaps one of the funniest things he?s ever said came after an argument where Mama and Mahal (what we call our Lola Armida) ganged up on him: ?Sometimes I feel like I?m the son-in-law.?

He?s home for the summer, on vacation from teaching at New York University Tisch Asia (Singapore). For last June 10?s rally against the Con-Ass, he made sure my brother and I went. ?You have to know what?s going on in the country.?

My Papa.