Leftovers in their less visible form are called memories. Stored in the refrigerator of the mind and the cupboard of the heart. -Thomas Fuller

So blogger has a new updated look. I'm trying it out for the first time to check if it's any better than the old version. I like the vast white space for typing and the settings feature on the side but it could be better, but for now, it's wonderful, really.

I wanted to share something but now I'm fighting over words while seeking for that spontaneous release of farts, woops I mean free-forming lines. Now I'm just rambling like an old woman. Oh there's one.

There was this person, a bespectacled guy, younger by a few years, who I used to know back in college. He was different, spoke in a serious voice that had a playful undertone which was surprisingly calming. I said he was different. By that I meant, he was quirky, not your usual college goer. He had about him a quiet thoughtfulness, that was a breath of fresh air, particularly in an environment where your most 'cool college folks' were a pretty tad drab bunch for me. Blame it on the soft spot that I had for that rare quality in human personalities. I still am that way, as far as I can tell.

This guy was quiet but not the kind associated with social shyness. He could crack a joke, which usually cracked the senses out of me. Yet, another person might not even find it funny. I was not immune to corny jokes as it never took much for me to bawl in insane laughter. In the case where the joker was someone I bonded with metaphysically, it was almost too easy. There were disjointed memories of conversations that I had with him, that remained with me over the years. No, he wasn't a love interest. I'm not that corny.

One time, while I was fuming by myself about something or another, he happened to stroll by the exterior of the lab where I was presently gathering my files, pens and papers, as I was heading back. I do not recall the precise subject that irritated me, though. In any case, it is not relevant. So there he was, with a twinkle in his eyes acknowledging my presence, at ease in his white coat, searching for his own bag on the shelf.

At that point of time, it escaped my mind that we would be on a holiday-break next week and had asked him quite seriously about our next lab usage and if he would be there at the earliest to avoid 'fighting off' the other final year students for an exclusive date with the rare and expensive lab equipment.

He told me straight faced, that I could come as early as I wanted to, as it was not of his business. I didn't get the point of this statement nor have I registered the mild amusement that'd crept up on his face (in retrospect). I ignored the mild confusion and proceeded to voice my concern of access to the labs if I came a wee bit earlier than others. He then told me that I could just bang on the lab door screaming for anyone to let me in. I still remember the way he'd dramatically uttered 'let me in' a couple of times in an exaggerated high tone.

I was still unfortunately oblivious to the fact that he was messing around with me in exchange for laughs. I just gaped at him and he sighed deeply before informing me that the labs would be closed and that no one would be here next week, except for me, who would be banging on the door asking to be let in.

I had the last laugh which roared out from my belly. I still do, even now as I recall this. I wonder if he still remembers but I doubt it. It's funny how a short moment in time, with a person I barely spent most of my time with, remained lodged in the recesses of my mind.

And then, there was this very carefully thought-out short speech that he generously shared with me and another friend while we waited for our turn to present our work assignment in a form of a 5-10 minutes group presentation. We were both edgy and extremely nervous. The latter applied to me more than her because I was numbed by pre-stage-fright. The old guy comforted us by saying that whatever it was, it would be over and that life would still go on and we would all move along in the path of life, no matter what.

I tried to find him on Farcebook (as the witty and kind, Mr Pennick calls it), but he's not on the silly thing. Wherever he is, I have nothing but the most positive of wishes for the old kind soul.

Image Credit
River Of Memory by Alexi Francis Illustrations