His ambitions were wild and unexpected. Being a boy, all his parents wanted him to become was either an engineer or a doctor.
“Art is not a means of income.” His father’s words were ringing in his head as he stood outside the art gallery, scrutinizing the paintings, lost deep in thoughts with the weight of his backpack on his shoulders and the stress of unwillingness of becoming an engineer in his heart.
Fantasizing about his career as an artist, he couldn’t imagine how he would manage to become one. Maybe opening up to his parents was one the stupidest mistakes he had ever made. But who would’ve known his very own father was not going to support him.
Lost in despair and head hanging low, he started walking towards his home, trying to come up for an excuse for being late yet again. With a thud, he was on the ground, his paintings scattered everywhere.
“Dear, dear. I’m so sorry.” said the old lady whom he had bumped into.
“No worries,” he said shyly, getting up and gathering up his papers.
She bent low and picked up a few of his art works and stared at it, bemused for a while. She looked back and forth from the boy to the painting, her eyes wide and jaw hanging low in awe.
“I must say, you’ll make an amazing artist,” she said handing him back his art work. He smiled at the memories that floated by as he lay her painting on her grave.
