In olden times when wishing still helped us, there was a man who had let go of the big-man-theory of life. He was startling, passionate, and impatient. His identity came from within and had nothing to do with what others thought of him. For him, the only measure of a person was: one’s heart and instincts. He was gentle and keen on your emotional wounds – because he sincerely believed you learn from something that leads to a mess. He liked to live with the invisible people who pass by everyday, the ones who live in someone’s heart — not the ones in minds.

In the span of a lifetime, there are very limited number of events that have the command to make you think everyday, and by that, I mean every single day! If that’s a flaw, my imperfection comes from my vivacious memories of all that I saw from him. I guess, if we’re predestined to believe in some form of impartiality in life, I got mine from his friendship.

It is painful, and hard, to write about the loss of a cherished friend. Hamid Khaddad was just that!