I t was a sunny Sunday morning and there I was, standing at the front door of Oscar's house. I was very excited to see Oscar again, but my fear of rejection hindered me from gathering up enough courage to knock at his door.
What if he forgot about our meeting? What if he was busy? I could not stop these thoughts from racing in my mind. Sweat was pouring down from my forehead and I could feel the fear starting to come over me. I was ready to turn around and walk away when suddenly the front door opened and a gentle voice came from behind the door.
"Aakash, you made it. Welcome to my humble abode," said Oscar with a humble smile.
There was Oscar, standing with a smile I could never forget. He was wearing an old tattered burgundy bathrobe with white pajamas that had cow bell drawings all over them.
"Hi Oscar, I hope I'm not bothering you," I said.
"Bothering me? Now why would you say something like that? We had a date, remember?" said Oscar with a confident look on his face.
"Yes, how can I forget? Thank you for inviting me," I said with a reluctant voice.
"Come in Aakash. Have a seat. I am going to change into something less comfortable. I will be with you in a jiffy."
His home was rather small and you could clearly see that the paint on the walls was starting to crack and change colour with years of dust and grime buildup. I have to say, though, that it did feel quite cozy. There was special warmth in the place that put me at ease. I heard a teakettle starting to whistle in the kitchen, just waiting to be taken off its burner.
As I looked at the house, I could not help noticing what was around me. I noticed a vast collection of models - small and large figures of different sailing ships. There were, maybe, a total of eight or ten of the most unusual-looking models of sailing ships I had ever seen. I wondered if Oscar had built them himself.
It must have taken him a lot of time and effort because they were built with such precision and detail. But there was something else in that house that took my attention away from the ships - books, hundreds of them, maybe even thousands. Oscar's entire living room, dining room and family room walls were covered with shelves, all full of books.
"Wow, did he read all of these?" I pondered.
While Oscar walked away, I noticed that on the dining table was a piece of paper. When I looked closer, I saw a hand written poem, but it didn't seem quite finished yet.
I picked up the piece of paper, so I could read the poem. It went something like this:
A Man Called Me
Who is he this man called me
Does he know what he will find
When this secret that he calls me
Begins slowly to unwind
What will truth and freedom be
When he seeks to find out who is me
So who is he this man called me
All wrapped up in what used to be
Afraid of life and what it brings
So to the past he grasps and clings
Afraid of what he might see
When he discovers who is me...
"A man cannot get enough knowledge. As they say, ' A love affair with knowledge will never end in heartbreak .' Sorry for interrupting, Aakash, but I could not help noticing how intrigued you seemed with my books," said Oscar.
I quickly put the paper down and asked, "Have you read all of these, Oscar?"
"Yes, most of them. I have purchased the majority of them myself, but some were given to me by my friends and family as gifts. There might be a few I have missed."