Arya wanted to fly. He wanted to be a pilot.
But his English exam results weren’t flying colors. So that summer, he took classes with an enthusiastic private teacher to redo the entrance exam in Autumn.
English was the only obstacle in Arya's dream. After taking the classes in autumn, he passed his entrance exams, enrolled in the flying school and soon enough, he got a job flying for a prestigious gold mining company. On a gorgeous route.
He lived his dream. He married a girl he loved, he got himself a home. He flew. And then his son was born.
Every year, though, the grateful student visited his English tutor; the one who played the important key in his airborne dreams.
Arya’s visits were always rich with warmth. Arya was every teacher’s dream student. From his tutor’s point of view, it’s nice to hangout and catch up with a student who’ve managed to make good use of the effort his teacher has spent on him.
The last time Arya visited, the Christian former student offered his respects and farewells in a typical Islamic fashion. They started with a hand shake, then the former student suddenly bent his head low, and kissed the back of his teacher’s hand.
In daze, the former tutor heard Arya say, “Pray for me. Wish my luck.”
Few weeks later, Arya’s plane crashed. That was his final farewell.
Every year, on the day of his death, the memory of that final farewell from the successful student, reasserts its presence on his tutor’s conscience.
How important were Arya’s dreams compared to his orphaned son, young widow and grieved parents?
We mourn not the life we have lost, but the life that could have been. If Arya would have the chance to do it over, you think he’d do it differently? What if he knew that actualizing his dreams could kill? I don't know.
What do you think?