Kismet has left us. Kismet Asmisspati. I never thought it’d be him. I was truly going to miss the guy. I didn’t go to his funeral, though. Everyone in the division gave me weird looks. The kinds your mother gave me when I would walk by after an argument. She knew I was wrong, but didn’t want to spark up anything else. It didn’t matter. But, yes, I didn’t go. I don’t regret not going either. I couldn’t handle it. There was too much anger roaming within me. I hated him. I hated what he stood for. He was everything which made him nothing at all. He presented himself as the pinnacle of innovation. Most notably, he became the Chief Space Researcher in a couple of years. Everyone thought he was exceptional, and I thought he was greedy. It felt like he was a bit robotic. He surrounded himself with his studies. He made sure of that.
His wife and kids were miserably happy. He was always working, and they got a paycheck. He had a prestigious image, but they had to tirelessly form into it. They were suffering for a better life. After his death, I am pretty sure they were conflicted. Rebecca had to get a job, and the kids transferred schools. Kizzy's status got his kids into the company’s preparatory middle school. I never understood, back then, why they decided to leave all of that for something unknown. They had everything, but it meant nothing; it made them nothing. Beck would say that she felt guilty for spoiling all his work for them to leave, but it pained her to stay. The thing that made it worse was the fact that they sold the house. The fancy modern house that had the skylight in the home office rotunda. Just something for Kizz and his solitude studies. You would expect the house on the hill part, too. Which was true. He did have a house on a hill. It was oddly placed. At a certain angle, it looked like it was leaning over. The shape of the house was organic which explains that it, possibly, could tip over. Alas, the house was supported enough with multiple pillars in the basement connecting to a plate underneath the house. You might be wondering: “How do you know all this?” The company sanctioned the building of this said house. I had to help build that house.
I barely got my own bedroom. I lived in the company’s share-homes. It wasn’t that bad, but, being the grown-up man I was, I needed my space from time to time. Ironically, that’s how I met your mother. If I wasn’t forced to be in that space you wouldn’t exist. You were born because we wanted you to be. I couldn’t say the same for Kizz. Beck’s family made him. Kind of. They constantly pestered him at family gatherings. Kizz was a people-pleaser at its finest. Mostly, because he was a perfectionist. Trying to make things perfect he soon began to make everything around him perfect. It mattered a lot to him. He confessed to me: “I am losing myself. I don’t have time for myself. I don’t remember what I am fighting for. I don’t remember. What am I doing this for?” We happened to be in the same room at the same time. I thought he was talking to himself until he slowly glanced up at me beckoning a conversation. He was in a way higher position than I was at that point in time, but the way he spoke was tender. It was weird because I felt like I owed it to him to answer. “That sounds depressing. I’m sorry you feel that way. I don’t know what you should do about that. Uhm, maybe, stick to what you know.” I mentally face-palmed. I could feel my eyes roll in the back of my head. Kizz cocked his head to the side and looked at me bemusedly. The expression was a mixture of “Dude [he would have uttered a name more professional], we are literally working in a space company. We never stick to what we know,” and “interesting.” He slid a notepad under his hand and grabbed a pen. He kept eye contact with me like he was trying to keep his train of thought. He left the room with his head buried into the notepad.
Some time after that, he began his infatuation with his surroundings as they were. He started to become more popular with his colleagues and workers. I found it creepy. He would mock people. Not in a--bullying you because I am better than you--kind of way, but a--I don’t know how to be human--kind of way. There were no signs of him changing either. The man was so immersed in his studies that he genuinely forgot how to be a person, hold conversation, and have a personality. The things that really rang my strange-guy alarm was when he started imitating female conversation. Yes, it was that bad. Everybody thought it was quirky and funny. But, when I used a not-so-effective-and-corny punchline on your mother, everybody gave me a weird look. Anyway, was I upset at the fact that his status threw away any opposition. Yes. But, not for a while. After I started to see who he truly was, I only pretended to dislike him (I was a pretty stubborn guy).
Kizz had an unnatural obsession with space and astronomy. His time was consumed by even the idea of space. Space would fill his conversations, Space would be his love, but, most importantly, Space would be his space. He was star--struck, if you will (you most likely get you comedic expertise from me). No, seriously. I was working on a personal project of my own around the time your mother was pregnant with you. Kizz walked in and slammed his palms on the table making the screws and gears jump around with fascination. “I’ve got it, Marz.” He always called me by my last name. I didn’t like it. Not as much as I wasn’t going to like what he was about to say. “For my next expedition to space, I want to go into a Black Hole.” He stared at me and I believed he was serious. He looked as though he was unsure. I leaned my head towards him and whispered, “If I were you, I’d not tell anyone until I got my ducks in a row…As in putting the ducks in a rowBOAT and letting them sail away.” I swiveled my chair away from him, but he caught it and forced it back towards him. He reciprocated my serious glare: “Black Holes are so obscure. Why not do it?”
“Is that what you truly want?”
“Yeah, Marz.”
They set off a couple years later. Kismet was ecstatic. He had this glow to him. Similar to the makeshift LED lights we made in physics class. It may not have been done correctly, but it sure did shine. Of course, Asmisspati was a researcher not an astronaut. That’s why it took so long for them to get him up there. He loved every second of it. He would work adamantly no matter how sore his body, no matter how tired his green eyes, and no matter how aching his heart. He knew this is what he wanted--nothing. I thought it was absurd. A Black Hole is nothing, you see. It destroys everything; therefore, it has nothing. That wasn’t enough for him to back down. Instead, it was what propelled him forward. He drifted far. Then, he was lost. Lost to space. Even now, while I am writing this, I still can’t grapple with the idea of what happened to him. I don’t think anyone ever will.
I was sitting in my Division working on my small project after hours. I had my Watchman that I kept from my father playing the news. It was around the same day Kismet passed. You were a preteen. My disapproving nod tried to hide the pain in my body. I felt intense shivers chill my skin. Sweat rolled down my blue uniform. I began to pack up my things until I heard a crackling noise. It started to rage louder and dangerously. I picked up my Watchman and started hitting it against my palm. Then, I hit against my table until it calmed. It made a whirring sound like in those comedic sci-fi movies (you would love them I’m sure of it). Then, it spoke to me. The voice was deep and guttural. It made the Watchman shake: “I don’t know what I must do now. I have so much to say to you, Marz. Sit down and take note.” I knew exactly who it was, and, still, I uneasily grabbed my chair and forced it forward…
His wife and kids were miserably happy. He was always working, and they got a paycheck. He had a prestigious image, but they had to tirelessly form into it. They were suffering for a better life. After his death, I am pretty sure they were conflicted. Rebecca had to get a job, and the kids transferred schools. Kizzy's status got his kids into the company’s preparatory middle school. I never understood, back then, why they decided to leave all of that for something unknown. They had everything, but it meant nothing; it made them nothing. Beck would say that she felt guilty for spoiling all his work for them to leave, but it pained her to stay. The thing that made it worse was the fact that they sold the house. The fancy modern house that had the skylight in the home office rotunda. Just something for Kizz and his solitude studies. You would expect the house on the hill part, too. Which was true. He did have a house on a hill. It was oddly placed. At a certain angle, it looked like it was leaning over. The shape of the house was organic which explains that it, possibly, could tip over. Alas, the house was supported enough with multiple pillars in the basement connecting to a plate underneath the house. You might be wondering: “How do you know all this?” The company sanctioned the building of this said house. I had to help build that house.
I barely got my own bedroom. I lived in the company’s share-homes. It wasn’t that bad, but, being the grown-up man I was, I needed my space from time to time. Ironically, that’s how I met your mother. If I wasn’t forced to be in that space you wouldn’t exist. You were born because we wanted you to be. I couldn’t say the same for Kizz. Beck’s family made him. Kind of. They constantly pestered him at family gatherings. Kizz was a people-pleaser at its finest. Mostly, because he was a perfectionist. Trying to make things perfect he soon began to make everything around him perfect. It mattered a lot to him. He confessed to me: “I am losing myself. I don’t have time for myself. I don’t remember what I am fighting for. I don’t remember. What am I doing this for?” We happened to be in the same room at the same time. I thought he was talking to himself until he slowly glanced up at me beckoning a conversation. He was in a way higher position than I was at that point in time, but the way he spoke was tender. It was weird because I felt like I owed it to him to answer. “That sounds depressing. I’m sorry you feel that way. I don’t know what you should do about that. Uhm, maybe, stick to what you know.” I mentally face-palmed. I could feel my eyes roll in the back of my head. Kizz cocked his head to the side and looked at me bemusedly. The expression was a mixture of “Dude [he would have uttered a name more professional], we are literally working in a space company. We never stick to what we know,” and “interesting.” He slid a notepad under his hand and grabbed a pen. He kept eye contact with me like he was trying to keep his train of thought. He left the room with his head buried into the notepad.
Some time after that, he began his infatuation with his surroundings as they were. He started to become more popular with his colleagues and workers. I found it creepy. He would mock people. Not in a--bullying you because I am better than you--kind of way, but a--I don’t know how to be human--kind of way. There were no signs of him changing either. The man was so immersed in his studies that he genuinely forgot how to be a person, hold conversation, and have a personality. The things that really rang my strange-guy alarm was when he started imitating female conversation. Yes, it was that bad. Everybody thought it was quirky and funny. But, when I used a not-so-effective-and-corny punchline on your mother, everybody gave me a weird look. Anyway, was I upset at the fact that his status threw away any opposition. Yes. But, not for a while. After I started to see who he truly was, I only pretended to dislike him (I was a pretty stubborn guy).
Kizz had an unnatural obsession with space and astronomy. His time was consumed by even the idea of space. Space would fill his conversations, Space would be his love, but, most importantly, Space would be his space. He was star--struck, if you will (you most likely get you comedic expertise from me). No, seriously. I was working on a personal project of my own around the time your mother was pregnant with you. Kizz walked in and slammed his palms on the table making the screws and gears jump around with fascination. “I’ve got it, Marz.” He always called me by my last name. I didn’t like it. Not as much as I wasn’t going to like what he was about to say. “For my next expedition to space, I want to go into a Black Hole.” He stared at me and I believed he was serious. He looked as though he was unsure. I leaned my head towards him and whispered, “If I were you, I’d not tell anyone until I got my ducks in a row…As in putting the ducks in a rowBOAT and letting them sail away.” I swiveled my chair away from him, but he caught it and forced it back towards him. He reciprocated my serious glare: “Black Holes are so obscure. Why not do it?”
“Is that what you truly want?”
“Yeah, Marz.”
They set off a couple years later. Kismet was ecstatic. He had this glow to him. Similar to the makeshift LED lights we made in physics class. It may not have been done correctly, but it sure did shine. Of course, Asmisspati was a researcher not an astronaut. That’s why it took so long for them to get him up there. He loved every second of it. He would work adamantly no matter how sore his body, no matter how tired his green eyes, and no matter how aching his heart. He knew this is what he wanted--nothing. I thought it was absurd. A Black Hole is nothing, you see. It destroys everything; therefore, it has nothing. That wasn’t enough for him to back down. Instead, it was what propelled him forward. He drifted far. Then, he was lost. Lost to space. Even now, while I am writing this, I still can’t grapple with the idea of what happened to him. I don’t think anyone ever will.
I was sitting in my Division working on my small project after hours. I had my Watchman that I kept from my father playing the news. It was around the same day Kismet passed. You were a preteen. My disapproving nod tried to hide the pain in my body. I felt intense shivers chill my skin. Sweat rolled down my blue uniform. I began to pack up my things until I heard a crackling noise. It started to rage louder and dangerously. I picked up my Watchman and started hitting it against my palm. Then, I hit against my table until it calmed. It made a whirring sound like in those comedic sci-fi movies (you would love them I’m sure of it). Then, it spoke to me. The voice was deep and guttural. It made the Watchman shake: “I don’t know what I must do now. I have so much to say to you, Marz. Sit down and take note.” I knew exactly who it was, and, still, I uneasily grabbed my chair and forced it forward…
