Life has always had one constant unavoidable feature of it: it will always come to an end. The brutality of death has never been anything the living can get used to. We arrive, we live, we learn, we love, we lose, we conquer, we fight, and then we must leave.
He was a good lad. He was someone who could relate to anyone easily. He could hold a conversation with someone whose name he didn’t know or had just met, and tried as much as he did to make others comfortable. He was loud and cheerful at times, and we always had fun with him.
He was focused. He worked the best he could at his job, and at school. He was a brilliant, and sometimes, lazy mind. Often you could see the practicality of what he said and reasoned whenever the situation called for it, and that made him appear smart.
He was a softie. Much as he tried to be macho and manly, he couldn’t avoid the mushiness he would melt into around some certain people and environments. He wanted to be gangster too, but this, his softness, that’s what broadly shaped his character. The world’s end was nowhere near the lengths he could go for those he loved.
He was also prone to weakness. He made mistakes. Repeatedly. He lost some of the best people he had met, because of silly reasons, hindsight, circumstances, some of his own doing, and sometimes maybe because he didn’t fight hard enough. He could be an ass. He has his own wet spot of ground dampened by the tears he caused. He made bad decisions. He was selfish, he gave his parents headaches. Often, occassionally, he was intentionally cold.
He was resentful. It ate him up. Rage consumed him. He found forgiving and letting go difficult, and it affected working relationships, social setups and the like. He was despicable, he pushed back when shoved. Sometimes with greater force, such that he left a trail of hurt and destruction. Most times, with such little force that the only person left reeling from the effects of badly executed strategies, was himself. And the fire burned him.
Ultimately, he was human. He hopefully accepted his fate. Life could never gift us the same talents, or the same situations. We appreciate the good times, and the memories, and try to turn a blind eye to the bad. He always said he lost his way somewhere along the line, hopefully the sweet embrace of death has reunited the roads and paths of the life we live, and made him realise who he was and his purpose for life, because it would just be sad for a candle to blow out without having given off any light.
He lived a life worth celebrating. Cliche but that’s how he wanted it read. He didn’t live up to his full potential, he didn’t do right by so many standards, but that doesn’t matter, because the end of his race has come. He has earned a permanent spot, somewhere where maybe he feels he belongs, hopefully on the right side of the line. Hopefully the solitude of death is more comforting than that of life.
He rests now.