A dozen years from now and I would still remember that it was a man with kind eyes that had saved me that night. The party had been too loud and dark with occasional green neon lights flashing and I’d just wanted to go home.
“You need to get out more,” had said my best friend from that first day in secondary school.
“Aren’t you a bit too old to be at a party like this?” I asked him.
“Aren’t you too young?”
I flushed, nodded and turned on my heels (which were killing me by the way).
“What do you want to do with your life?”
His question hung in the air, like a stubborn stain on a white shirt, dense, tense.
I turned around and nanoseconds passed. “I don’t know really,” I said with a nervous laugh.
He seemed disappointed and for some reason unbeknown to me (till this day), I felt the urge to make this stranger proud of me.
“Well, I could go into singing. But I heard it’s tedious. So, maybe modelling. I’ve been told I’m beautiful,” my lame attempt at a deep response.
“I believe beauty brings light,” said I and I didn’t know where it came from.
“You don’t need beauty. You have diligence. You’re good with a flashlight,” said he, with a twinkle in his eye.
And I realised the music had stopped.
A dozen years later and I would be standing in front of the audience, receiving the award for The Best Female Vocalist for the year. As the camera lights flashed, so did my life before my eyes and I realised it was a man with kind eyes that had saved me. From myself.