Miss Aida
I hate bureaucracy with a passion. Following the loss of my wallet I had to undergo the long and tedious process of reporting, cancelling and remaking my personal documents. Identification card. Driving license. ATM cards. Going through the hassle of what would be a relatively easy task tries my patience.

I don't understand the inefficiency of bureaucracy. Why in eternity it takes half a morning, merely to que up and wait one's turn after your number is taken, when the actual process of making one's identity card is a matter of minutes. Fill form, get picture taken, get fingerprints scanned and pay. Yet the amount of time wasted in the waiting room is frustrating. I remain confident the government has the capability of devising much more effective ways of improving these necessary services to the public, and yet they don't.

I wouldn't have minded too much. I'm on holiday, and I'm usually patient enough to tune out and daydream. However, being daddy's little girl, my dad had given up his day to help me sort out my personal matters. He drove me around, almost uncomplainingly, from one place to another. I walked alongside him, letting my dad take charge as he usually does. He still thinks I'm his little girl, and I am unashamedly unexposed to the harsh realities of the world, as I cling on to him.

I remain clueless about paying bills, about where to go and what procedures are involved with making official documents, much less about things like taxes and laws.

Needless to say, it was frustrating for me to have to go from one place to another, to be referred to from one government office to another, only to meet with more obstacles than I started with. There seemed to be no organization, and I shared my dad's frustration as we shuttled from one place to another.

As I spent those long hours with my dad, walking alongside him, I resisted the urge to link my arm into his and hug him, like I used to do when I was a child. I was struck at how I was almost as tall as my dad, although deep in my heart, I still felt like I was six. Six years old, walking beside my daddy with all the childish adoration of innocence, feeling as if he would take care of me and protect me from the world. I may be twenty but I still feel the same way.

I feel like the calm, unhurried, confident man I walk beside will take care of me and protect me from the world. Beside him, I am always his little girl. I am always his child, and he is always my hero.

And at the end of that long, frustrating day, knowing how he had given it up to handle my personal affairs when he could have been doing other things more to his liking, I hugged him in that childishly adoring way I do, and I thought I noticed the softening of the lines in his face before he gruffly ignored the attention of his oldest daughter.

It's times like these when I truly appreciate the sacrifices my dad makes for me.

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