I love my dad because he’s my dad. It’s that simple.

No matter how serious he may be, no matter how strict he may be, he’s still my dad and I’m still his daughter.

He yells at me for doing something wrong. He yells at me for not doing something right. He gets mad quite a lot, but he still loves me, I’m sure.

He’s really strict with time. Be late and he’ll be grumpy.

He’s also quite the disciplinarian. Curfews must be followed. While living under his roof, you abide by his rules. No exceptions.

Quite scary, isn’t he?

Most of my friends are afraid of him. Some adults even fear him.

He’s not a person you should cross.

However, I still love my dad. No matter how immature or unreasonable he may be, he’s still my one and only father.

His love will always be unconditional. If it wasn’t, I might have become one of those street children begging for spare change.

It’s strange how one minute I hate him for being so unrealistic, and the next I’m thinking how lucky I am for being born as his daughter.

I guess a parent-child relationship is quite strange. And to think someday, I’ll be having the same problems as my parents did with me.