Andy

It's often debilitating when one loses their freedom. Be it a loss of movement, speech, thought, or anything of value, the adjustment from "I used to be able to do this" to "I wish I was still able to do that" is tough to say the least. Over the years, and especially as a post grad student in issues surrounding International Development, discussions are frequent on the loss of freedoms. And so I come to this forum today to contribute to the same topic.

I met Andy nearly eight years ago. Young and hopeful, a bunch of us were filing into our new residences, saying goodbye to our parents and welcoming a new chapter of our lives: first year university. Andy was right there with us, full of optimism for the year to come. He had a knack for staying up late, pranking on people on our floor and making those around him laugh with his unique way of being. Enrolled in the same program, we took many of the same classes together and really got to know one another and depend on each other. Needed someone to talk to? Andy was your guy. If even for just being an ear to shout obscurities at, Andy was your man. When you were in need of someone to fart into an empty jar, seal it and deliver it to unsuspecting girls on our floor to open up and whiff, Andy was always on board. As years passed, we continued to remain friends. He cried when he heard I was getting married. He's helped me move countless times. He's been there at the best and worst for each of us. As much as a friend can love his fellow male friend, I do.

Tragically, Andy lost many of his freedoms recently. These losses are that much more painful when you remember what Andy was like before. Young, innocent, full of life. A smile that wouldn't only brighten up the largest of rooms, but that little lighthouse in your heart. I remember the last time I was with Andy when he was still himself. We were sharing a meal together with other friends around. Everything seemed so usual - so normal - so right. And suddenly, like that, his freedom was ripped away from him with no warning.

Life is funny that way. You wake up in the morning, go through the motions and for the most part, take things for granted. Your privacy. Your enjoyment of taking a dump with the bathroom door open. The crusted up toothpaste in the corner of the sink, garnished with some sort of body hair. The unkept bed and the fact that you've been wearing the same underwear for three days. These freedoms, although small, are the building blocks upon which happiness rests on. These freedoms, among millions of others, were ripped away from Andy when he recently decided to move in with his girlfriend.

I'll always remember that jar, Andy.

Gilad