When I shook hands with you on my first day of college, I didn’t think we would become best friends. It’s not that I counted it out as a possibility, but there was nothing in particular about our initial conversation that made me think we would eventually become roommates. To be honest, all we talked about that day was skinny jeans and Brooklyn. As we grew closer, though, hanging out at the front of McCulloch, I could sense something similar in the way we were looking at life at the time. That we both understood that life wasn’t fair, but that wasn’t going to stop us from enjoying ourselves. Now I remember the day I asked you if you wanted to be my roommate sophomore year. We were sitting at Lisa’s Cafe. I remember looking forward to getting to know you better. And then my memory jumps ahead to the point where we became like brothers. I’m sure the process was gradual, but I don’t remember it like it was. All of a sudden, it was so easy to talk freely about our goals - about our egos and and how it felt to do good things. We would sit in your room at Plex almost every day (you forgot to sign up for a housing number), watching Hulu or talking or playing video games or reading. At this point, Mike was with us now, showing us new music and turning his bed into a makeshift couch so that we could just all sit together and laugh and enjoy how it felt to fulfill that high school dream of finding yourself in college. A lot of people discover their latent passions through their major or extracurricular or volunteer work. But for me, at least, I found myself through you and Mike and Ryan and all the amazing people who would pass through the doors of 2213 Ridge and Pratt. But it all started with you. And our friendship was seamless and comfortable. Right now, I remember brief frames of you so clearly. How cold I felt in the car when you, Mike, Ryan, and I would drive in the winter to McDonald’s at 2 in the morning. The sound of your leather chair swiveling while you printed out your homework. Borrowing your tie. The smell of the corner behind Plex where we would walk. I also remember how hard you were on yourself. During freshman year, a bottle of shampoo opened in your backpack and ruined your laptop. I don’t think you ever forgave yourself for that. And yet, when I accidentally fried your replacement laptop’s keyboard when I spilled water on it, you were so forgiving. You just laughed it off. That’s just how you showed your loyalty. Loyalty, which I think is related so closely to your obsession with lions. Mufasa Rauf. And really, I can’t think of a more appropriate comparison for who you were. Above all, you valued strength and loyalty. You would be so supportive of everything I did. You would read everything. Listen to everything. You were my biggest fan. And I don’t think I ever properly reciprocated that support. It hurts for me to write this. It hurts that we can’t talk anymore, play cards together, or fight with each other ever again. For over four years, I was with you for your highest highs and lowest lows and a myriad of mediocre, amusing, frustrating and tedious events in between. But it wasn’t for nothing. Despite knowing how abruptly, violently, and unfairly you died, I am so glad I met you. You have shaped so much of who I am, and I wouldn’t be nearly as motivated, ambitious and opinionated as I am today if it weren’t for all our conversations and arguments. So, in a selfish but loving gesture, I thank you with all my heart for shaking my hand. Mutahir, you are appreciated.
Posted on: Wed, 10 Dec 2014 15:11:07 +0000