February
The man who would never see February; I've never thought of him as a friend until today. Perhaps it is too late. But what I think of him, specifically, in status, friend, aquaintance... or simply, my best friend's Dad... does it really matter after he is gone? To me, the answer is negative. The reason is because nothing has changed and nothing will after a realisation that has come too late. My memories of him remain the same, even if I have realised he was... kind of a friend. Can I say he was my friend? Was he really...?
I have never told him about my dreams. He has shared his with me, his interests, while my contribution is meager at best. I remember it, my sole contribution to our friendship, if that did exist. We were talking about Loudness, maybe a year ago, maybe two. He said he never did like the vocalist that had the funny Japanese accent while he screamed or yoddled in English. I said that I actually preferred that vocalist, thinking him to be the more expressive of the two. Compare S.D.I. to Ashes In The Sky.
Well, none of that matters now. I can't do anything, except to see that the final, the end, puts life on a scale with the largest perspective. In the end, what do you stand to lose? I listened, but perhaps I should have listened more. I did not. The bitterness I feel now, is made worse by the premature end of our last conversation, during which he was talking, yet again, about February.
Now, I see it, once it has been brought front from the back of my mind, an idea. It seemed to have served no purpose whatsoever... until now, that is to embitter and question why. About one and a half years back, I suddenly noticed him because he was doing things. He went to yoga class. He made wine and stout at home. The alcohol he let an old friend (who's also gone, albeit in a different way) and I sample. He told us about the process, his visits to the Tiger Beer brewery, the uses of the different tools laying around. He showed us the inside of his beer fridge. His home-made alcoholic beverages was the 2nd topic he favoured most during a discussion.
My own Dad had rarely spoken this much to me. And never, has he once talked about his hobbies. Small talk was discouraged; incredibly, he seemed to hate small talk even more than I did. Even when I tried to use it as a leading-up tactic for talking about things that did matter, he batted my words away, declared me an unworthy audience.
My best friend's Dad, he was different. He showed me how it could've been, how it might be like if my Dad talked. Yet, I never spoke much to him, perhaps I was afraid that he too, might one day decide me to be an unworthy audience, one that did not even know how to listen. So I listened, to this man who seemed to have come out from the background into my life, to tell me about himself.
February was the no. 1 thing he had loved to discuss. He had attended numerous courses for e-marketing, eventually graduating from the most advanced courses and was eager to start his own online business. He projected his gains, designed his website, dreamt of making it appear no. 1 on Google when a relevant search term was entered. He planned for months. If it didn't work out, he said, he would try again. He would open the project's hood and find out which faulty part was giving off smoke. Bad website design? He'll make it better. Still not no. 1? No biggie.
He couldn't wait for February.
[The idea was that once, there was a tree, who had lived a number of years, sired several saplings of its own. For a time, it was content to sway in the wind with its companion tree and its saplings, so it stopped growing. It was enough for it to watch the saplings grow and murmur, when its leaves brushed against each other, about how much it loved its companion tree. But one day, a strange wind arrived. As a result, a new branch started to grow out of the tree and it started to plan, about what it would do about that branch. There, the happiest days would begin as it swayed with its family, while its mind was abuzz with thoughts of the branch. What birds would build nests on it? Would it be big enough to shelter and provide for them? How big would the brach eventually become? It could never stop thinking about its new appendage, this new and exciting part of its life that bathed its everyday routines in glorious possibilities. The branch grew and grew. The tree sensed that its growth was about to finish, that the branch was almost ready to be used as a real branch. Then...]
The man who will never see February - no - he wasn't my friend. But he could have been. What he was though, was a good father and a thoroughly unselfish man. My best friend told me, a couple of hours before, that he had said, a long time ago... that his last words to all who were concerned, were, "If I am gone, then move on."
I have never told him about my dreams. He has shared his with me, his interests, while my contribution is meager at best. I remember it, my sole contribution to our friendship, if that did exist. We were talking about Loudness, maybe a year ago, maybe two. He said he never did like the vocalist that had the funny Japanese accent while he screamed or yoddled in English. I said that I actually preferred that vocalist, thinking him to be the more expressive of the two. Compare S.D.I. to Ashes In The Sky.
Well, none of that matters now. I can't do anything, except to see that the final, the end, puts life on a scale with the largest perspective. In the end, what do you stand to lose? I listened, but perhaps I should have listened more. I did not. The bitterness I feel now, is made worse by the premature end of our last conversation, during which he was talking, yet again, about February.
Now, I see it, once it has been brought front from the back of my mind, an idea. It seemed to have served no purpose whatsoever... until now, that is to embitter and question why. About one and a half years back, I suddenly noticed him because he was doing things. He went to yoga class. He made wine and stout at home. The alcohol he let an old friend (who's also gone, albeit in a different way) and I sample. He told us about the process, his visits to the Tiger Beer brewery, the uses of the different tools laying around. He showed us the inside of his beer fridge. His home-made alcoholic beverages was the 2nd topic he favoured most during a discussion.
My own Dad had rarely spoken this much to me. And never, has he once talked about his hobbies. Small talk was discouraged; incredibly, he seemed to hate small talk even more than I did. Even when I tried to use it as a leading-up tactic for talking about things that did matter, he batted my words away, declared me an unworthy audience.
My best friend's Dad, he was different. He showed me how it could've been, how it might be like if my Dad talked. Yet, I never spoke much to him, perhaps I was afraid that he too, might one day decide me to be an unworthy audience, one that did not even know how to listen. So I listened, to this man who seemed to have come out from the background into my life, to tell me about himself.
February was the no. 1 thing he had loved to discuss. He had attended numerous courses for e-marketing, eventually graduating from the most advanced courses and was eager to start his own online business. He projected his gains, designed his website, dreamt of making it appear no. 1 on Google when a relevant search term was entered. He planned for months. If it didn't work out, he said, he would try again. He would open the project's hood and find out which faulty part was giving off smoke. Bad website design? He'll make it better. Still not no. 1? No biggie.
He couldn't wait for February.
[The idea was that once, there was a tree, who had lived a number of years, sired several saplings of its own. For a time, it was content to sway in the wind with its companion tree and its saplings, so it stopped growing. It was enough for it to watch the saplings grow and murmur, when its leaves brushed against each other, about how much it loved its companion tree. But one day, a strange wind arrived. As a result, a new branch started to grow out of the tree and it started to plan, about what it would do about that branch. There, the happiest days would begin as it swayed with its family, while its mind was abuzz with thoughts of the branch. What birds would build nests on it? Would it be big enough to shelter and provide for them? How big would the brach eventually become? It could never stop thinking about its new appendage, this new and exciting part of its life that bathed its everyday routines in glorious possibilities. The branch grew and grew. The tree sensed that its growth was about to finish, that the branch was almost ready to be used as a real branch. Then...]
The man who will never see February - no - he wasn't my friend. But he could have been. What he was though, was a good father and a thoroughly unselfish man. My best friend told me, a couple of hours before, that he had said, a long time ago... that his last words to all who were concerned, were, "If I am gone, then move on."