It was ten years ago that someone told him something that would stand by him in times of trouble and self doubt. Time and again.
They weren't friends, they weren't enemies. More like competitors. They rarely spoke to each other and the relationship was standoff-ish, at best. But they had one thing in common - they were not liked by the others. It was almost at the end of their acquaintanceship, and what was to be their last meeting, that he told him. They had traded victories and were parting as equals. He told him that people will always be jealous of success. You are successful. Don't care about what they say - it will not matter in the end.
A few years later, the phenomenon still persisted. Then she had told him that he had something about him. He seemed to put people automatically on the defensive. He seemed arrogant and condescending. He was too sharp, too critical. It was most probably unintentional, in fact, he couldn't understand it because it was definitely not what he intended. False friends were in abundant supply; the backbiting and sly and gutless corridor gossip was, too. What kind of people are these, who do not have the moral courage to express what they think or feel directly? The hurt and pain was masked by the few wonderful friends and many wonderful times, but the madness of youth had its way. Now, the memories have found their place beside the person he used to be, buried under the sands of obscurity. Sometimes, in the cyclic nature of everything, the winds blow away the layers above to reveal a time long gone. He now sees what lies beneath, smiles and turns away. The winds and the sands then do what they must.
Several more calendars became shelf-liners. He had grown so much. So much had changed. But some things remained the same. The same jealousies, the same envies, the same intensities of love and friendship. The same human nature, unworthy of respect, the same shallowness of character, unworthy of reminiscence.
He lost faith. He could not understand. He asked why. Answers were few. Friends, inspite of their self-confessed difficulty in talking to him, told him several things. He loved them for it. He concluded that the things he was not willing to compromise on were the same things the jealous resented. Because they could never match up, never be like him. He realised he had ended up compromising on himself, the person he could be, to accomodate the inconsequential desires of insects and parasites. In doing so, he had sunk to their level and given them their morbid satisfaction in their mediocrity.
Worse, he had sunk in his own eyes. He had been so enraptured with the idea of forever, that he had not seen there were those who did not deserve his forever.
It was time to clean up. He had a good life, the love of a beautiful woman, a career, a few real, close friends, all the talents given to him and all the skills he learned...and a plan.
Everyone has a sandbox of the past. It is a parallel ecosystem ; it has tranquility and it has storms. The storms represent an upheaval, and they disturb the layers we have built over time. Sometimes, the storms reveal litter, and sometimes they may reveal diamonds evolved from the silica. Diamonds mean nothing to the monkey, but they might mean something to the man evolved from the monkey. When you find the diamonds, take them out, dust them off, and do what you have to do.
And when you see mostly litter, it's time to clean up.
That's when the sandbox becomes tranquil again.
^
