So Much, Too Soon

Chapter 4 : Wise Little Boy

I don't usually write, especially not a diary but I wouldn't say I'm a bad songwriter. I remember writing an essay in high school and I got a big fat D. I know it's weird for a guy to write his own diary because most guys don't. I also wonder if every girl writes her own. You might be wondering why would I suddenly write a diary and I'm proud to say that I was inspired by a little boy I met in the park yesterday. He's so young, curly brown hair, dark skin, independent, a negro and he was writing a diary. All along, I've always wondered why in the world do people write diaries, I even thought they were a waste of time. But I take back my unwise words. I approached the little guy when I saw him sitting alone on the park bench while he was busy writing.

I found a seat next to him. 'Why do you write?' I smiled at him.

He looked up at me with eyes as black as coal and said 'because a life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes other; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it.' He got back to his writing. 'My mama used to write a diary of her own and she'd teach me how to write.'

I swear I was speechless for a while. 'Used to?'

'Mama died.'

My heart shattered into pieces and I didn't mean to ask. 'I'm so sorry.' I patted his shoulder gently. 'It's getting late, you should get back to your father.'

'He killed mama.'

I felt sharp knives stabbing my chest from the inside as I stared at the little boy while I tried so hard not to tear but I did. I felt so sorry for him that I didn't know what to say.

He turned to me and smiled this time. 'Mama told me to be a strong, wise man when I grow up and she used to say that strong, wise man don't cry.' He kept his blunt pencil in his pocket and closed his diary. 'Don't cry strong, wise man.' He walked away as he kicked a stone and picked up a leaf.

I didn't turn my gaze as he walked further neither did he turned back. I didn't manage to ask for his name but I'm sure I've asked enough of his mother. I sat on the park bench thinking of him and what he said for hours exactly like a dummy. I hope I'll meet him again soon. He's the wisest boy I've ever met and I know he'll be a wise man like how his mother had always wanted him to be.

So here goes nothing.

Dear Diary,

It's drizzling outside and I think it might rain heavily. I was about to go to the beach for volleyball but...pity me right? Oh yeah, I met this girl a few days ago when I went surfing. It was fucking embarrassing when I almost drowned her but thank lord we were the only ones there. She became my surfing "teacher" after that. She's blonde and I can't believe I'm writing this but I was kinda lost in her beautiful blue eyes. I also find it weird when she kept staring at my dimples maybe that's because she's never seen one on her cheeks. Mom and dad doesn't have dimples and I was wondering how come I have? What if I'm adopted? Okay, I shouldn't be dramatic. By the way, I'm looking forward to have my "surfing lesson" with her again tomorrow!

And about the little boy yesterday. I wonder where he lives...I mean like he can't possibly live with his father. I hope he has a loving foster family he lives with. I pray for him everyday, amen.

Ryan