I always thought S was a tragic failure. “He had an exceptional amount of juice in his head”, people would say, “but he never got around to using it.” This was partly because of his anxiety issues that were escalated and often backed up in fear by his family in pity and foolish protectiveness.
As I grow older, though, I realise how imperfect and flawed we, humans are. And how even the mere attempt to grasp perfection is deeply rooted in our own path towards insanity. S might have had a tough life but at least he touched and shaped someone else’s.
Imperfection aside, we are also slaves to nostalgia, fortunately or unfortunately. We remember things about people and places and events that have a deep impact on our personality and lead us in life. So, no matter how we lived our own lives, if we have the courage and conviction to influence another’s for the better, we accumulate a tiny win. And we all know how tiny drops eventually make the vast blue ocean.