A friend of mine

He didn’t think highly of himself. Without letting the world know, he would create wonders. He had respect for everyone, just as everyone respected him. People considered him intelligent without understanding what he was doing. The only difference was, he did things differently.

While we read comics, he read “The Theory of Everything”. He would bring books that smelled good. Even though he was always carrying books and reading every time, he wasn’t as intelligent as he was in the very beginning. As a friend of mine recalls, he was average. In the beginning, he was less self-esteemed. With time, he changed. His brother was a mastermind, and everyone thought it was in his genes. They were right. He was smart.

It was talent he possessed, backed by hard work.

He would play an instrument better than most would. He was good with a football. Good looking and good with video games. If only someone could decipher him. Actually we all know the formula. It’s all but hard work, but it requires motivation. People who listen to Mozart are intelligent people. This does not come naturally. You could try, but it is not in your taste. How could someone develop such interest in things that make a man interesting, but is boring to pursue? This I wish I knew. Perhaps I could have become someone like him who cared less of his status and more of what he wants to become. I envy how focused he was with everything. Talking about how he did things so differently, he would play drives in cricket.

I’ve been to his home and figured out that he was blessed. He had the support from his family. I’m not saying he’s going to be a successful person because he is rich, but I know he would have become a better person anyway. He wasn’t a prodigy, to be honest, but he found his way of developing into who is now. I look back at myself and I think I should have been close friends with him. If only I had borrowed his books, I would have become a much interesting person today. He did one thing right.

He followed his heart.

I don’t even know if he enjoys my company, but in the past my best friends have been his best friends. Nobody has ever talked ill of him and no one will. It’s been years since I last saw him and perhaps another day will come when I’ll have coffee with him. We all grow and I think it’s not late to change who you used to be, if you aim of becoming a better man. I’ve written this about you, and you will never know.

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