He was twelve at that time, a young man with brown hair and green-like Chrysoprase eyes, looking for interests. Nothing impressed him more than seeing people do their job or living their normal life as an adult, but at the same time, he envied them. Why? It’s talent. He believed that they were doing their job because they had talent, like a painter who has talent for painting and he kept on asking himself:
“What is my talent?”
“What am I good at?”
He tried almost everything, but nothing worked. He tried photography, but he couldn’t even tell the difference between landscape and portrait. He tried playing the violin, but he couldn’t even hold the bow right. He tried to paint, but he couldn’t even draw a straight line. He tried playing basketball and the coach blew his whistle every two minutes and it was all because of him carrying the ball around instead of dribbling it. For some reason, he thought that he was the only human who was born without any talent. He gave up on everything and decided to just walk, watch and ask people around him.
Ten years later and he was still doing his daily activities: strolling around the neighbourhood, greeting people along the way or sometimes asking them how they’re doing with their jobs which he was just curious about it. He was known as ‘the friendly peculiar guy who always strolls around and talks to strangers about their jobs’ because that was what he did. He looked to the sky and wondered:
‘Did God really create me only to suffer?’
For him, no talent meant no job. He hadn’t got one at all and he blamed it all on himself for not being good at anything. But for everyone else, it was probably because he hadn’t tried to do it or gave up on it before he even started.
He knocked on a door. He never saw this house around before. He hoped that whoever the person was, could help him find his talent. A key was turned with a loud grating noise and the door swung back. Inside, a tall man stood clad in black from head to foot. The tall man motioned him to enter his house. There, he saw many paintings were hung on the wall and statues that the tall man sculpted were displayed and splash of paints were everywhere on the floor. It was always the same view he had seen in every artist’s house. The tall man gave him a brush and a medium-sized canvas.
“In case you wanted to draw,” he said.
He shook his head and put the tools down on the floor.
“How come you’re so good at this? At this drawing and sculpting thing?” the brown-haired man asked with a curious expression.
The tall man immediately laughed at the question, for never in his life had he heard this kind of question: “It’s obvious. Talent,” he answered.
Well, the guy expected nothing. He knew ‘talent’ would always be the answer to all questions he asked. He smiled and took a glance at the brush and canvas, asking “do you think I’d be able to draw like you?”
“Of course,” the tall man smiled, “do you think talent is the only thing you need to do something? Not always but at least you can try”.
The guy nodded and thought deeply about the word ‘Try’. He gave up on painting. He gave up on sports. He gave up on music, when he didn’t even try to improve on any of these activities. He left the house full of joy, knowing what to do after.
Another ten years passed, his name was on the headline of the news. This left everyone in his neighbourhood flabbergasted: the friendly peculiar guy who always strolls around and talks to strangers about their jobs is now one of the smartest professors in his country.
“Talent? I don’t think I have one, but in the early years I used to walk around my neighbourhood and asked people about their jobs out of curiosity,” he smiled to the camera and waved.
“I’m just curious, so I tried it out”.