Praying With Papa

So pure of face, wouldn't you say?

My father is full of surprises. Among his latest was telling me that even with all my shortcomings, he considered me his anak soleh. Me. The daughter the family would complain about when he came home from work at the end of each day. The one who was such a nightmare way back in school that he was ashamed to meet my teachers. The one who made him use the rotan on a regular basis, and for which he would cry afterwards. The one who was always the life of the party - usually first one on and last one off the dance floor. The one who was always more comfortable being friends with boys than girls (granted this was never to a disturbing degree) and giving people the wrong idea. And a billion other things I hate myself for and would never list here. He knows all this, and still he considers me the filial daughter he has the highest hopes for. And he expects the best from one he considers the best.
As a child you want your parents to be proud of you for what you are. But this exceeds all my expectations. This is a title I had never even dared to dream of. I always thought I'd be Queen of Malaysia before anyone called me anak soleh.
This is the highest regard, Papa.
I'll try my best not to let you down.