There are words that I am writing now that my father won't be able to understand.

As an immigrant from China, my father has never had a firm grasp on English. Always misunderstanding words and stumbling in the simplest speech, he doesn't doubt that one of his greatest impediments in life is indeed the language barrier.

To support his family, he works as a humble maintenance manager for an apartment, pulling small jobs for friends and family on the side, fixing air conditioners, garage doors, floors - you name it. He has the hands of a healer, the ability to fix anything that's broken - except for his English, that is.

Recently, due to discrimination towards his verbal ability in his workplace, a company he has worked at for the past seven years, he has resigned from work. His pride stops him from taking the abuse, because he knows what his hands are capable of; he knows life is a clock that's ticking and he doesn't have time to be pushed around.

He comes home one day, fighting so strongly with his words in Chinese to my mother and my grandmother that he's practically hiding behind his skin, acting tough. He tells them about his work situation, and tries to make sense of the available options, the crumbs he has left from the life he used to have. He tells them about how he plans to go to New York to help the previous manager, a close friend, with the new home she will be living in. He tells them about how he plans to drive to New York - no plane ticket for him.

Thus, my father has been to New York twice in his life, yet he's never had the chance to enjoy Times Square or the Statue of Liberty. He went, both times, to work for that friend, to help her renovate the house, working almost all 86,400 seconds of a day inside or near it.

Yet, he doesn't regret anything.

Even after severely cutting his finger on a saw, he continues on working dirty jobs as a handyman, not even caring for the trailing, visible scar down the side of his middle finger nor his inability to bend it fully, because this is all for the people he loves. He doesn't let all his disadvantages stop him from coming as close to his true dreams as humanely possible nor hinder his happiness in life, because he's aware of everything else in the moment.

He knows just exactly what he should be living out his life for.

My father may not be able to speak English, but he can live like he's dying. He can make every second count because he's been in so many cases where life is on the edge, where life is practically about to crash, that he knows to enjoy the moments when he does succeed, the moments when he is with family and the people who truly care for him.