my cousin told me the story of my dad when he was younger. my heart ached for not knowing the him that was then, the him that was passionate, the him that was so alive. the him that was flexible, so mischievious and so young. the him whose world revolved around more than just his work.

perhaps it had also been the same then, perhaps it is just my imagination. he is so one-dimensional now. perhaps all successful man are. perhaps this is what they call focussed.