My mum opened the briefcase and with it came memories forever buried in my heart. Thick, laminated, covered and even embossed papers. Papers that showed that my dad was an educated man; each certificate representing different levels of literacy... Suddenly tears filled my eyes, the certificates lay in that briefcase representing his sweat, his toil. Vanity; while he's 3 years gone, his papers can't do much... Today I don't remember him as an educated, eloquent, lecturer... I remember him as a loving father and friend... His papers can't embrace me, they can't encourage me, they can't love me... Maybe if we loved more than hate, then we'd leave eternal marks behind... My father left his papers behind but he also left eternal marks; not in a briefcase where ants and termites can damage them, but in my heart... And when I want to remember I go back to my untouchable briefcase...
