The realm of aesthetic judgement is something that has been on my mind and lips for some time now. He is not just handsome he is strikingly handsome. You ask me does he understand this most brilliant self of himself. I ask myself softly and quietly almost to the tune of a whisper, does he?
Eddie introduced himself to the world as a fairly intelligent kid. I watched him grow and as a young boy, he was already showing the charisma of his dear father. I remember those days he used to call my dad uncle Dan. His favourite uncle then. He could pass by the house anytime and greet my father with smiles and laughter. I remember how he used to walk across the floor like a black belt holder.
It’s only yesterday, I could advise him while looking down his face from an angle of depression. Today the tables have definitely been turned and I now have to do that from an angle of elevation. The diagonals favour him as I struggle with my usual length that is somewhat shy of going beyond the horizontal. He is tall and willowy and with a graceful walk that almost seems unsteady but rather, very steady. Listening to him talk is like listening to my other self. He is the only person I can introduce as one who can barely scratch the depth of my intelligence. For that is not subject to change as yet.
It amazes me how easy it is for things to change. He was small, now he has grown, not just in height but in a thousand different ways. And now at least I can tease him about having a girl. “I want to help you,” I say to him one day. Then I told my friend how he is the secret admirer. And it’s the funniest thing I realise, he is just smiling not terrified. I could see that he was not scared. He spoke boldly, but then I wonder lightly and a little deeper and realised there was something more.
Then I watched again as he smiled a shy little smile. And so it was clear. I heard him tell stories again and again. I had seen him do stuff. I had listened to him read what he had written. My world revolves around listening, reading and thinking about what can be written. I was surprised that I didn’t realise before. Surprised that it took me so long see.
I see his behavioural tendencies in this family and friends things. I shake my head with fun when I see him interact. I smile when I see him blush and sometimes, stealing quick glances at the ground. What a boy! Now that he is way distant from the place I’m, his sister tells me he has become really shy. I laugh when I hear the protestations in his voice over the phone. And I know that it is true. People and all their deceits and illusions that inform everything they do tends to be the most fascinating of all things. They always don’t appreciate being seen for who they are.
When I think about it. I ask myself, is it really such a bad thing to be shy. I look back, I dig into the archives. I flip my pictures over and over. I revise each and every single one of them. I realise though that there is not many that I don’t have a crash helmet, well I loved bikes so was my unbending love for the helmet. I never loved cameras flashing. I hated cameras, I still do. Replaying such pivotal moments of my life and sort of massaging the dates and time just a little. I can’t help but wonder if I should really discuss shyness of another.
Today I sit quiet and look out the window sometimes. And I grasp that maybe I stay away occasionally because I’m shy about what the outside environment holds. I’m careful though not to confuse the subtle difference between shyness and innocence. I’m definitely not the innocent type. Oh, it’s weird how people change I may have been, but surely the case is different now.
He is terribly handsome and unlike me, he is innocent. He is the kind I would always describe as first-class. He is definitely a great boy, a good boy, a good son of his father and yet attractively shy. I now understand that being shy is sometimes so awesome, for its possible to just sit and watch countless display of absolute ignorance out there.