As always, he folded his makeshift bed and tied it atop his big blue camping bag, a camping bag that had began to lose its colour. No, he did not drink, or smell. He had an easel which he got for a little over 30 dollars and he carried it around everywhere he went.
Everyday he sat at a new location and hoped one or two of the thousands of people that walked by would stop and ask for a painting and in his very good days, he earned 50 to 60 dollars, enough to eat some good meal and get a bed for the night. But he did not, he instead bought more painting materials and books, including good diet plans and healthy living tips for the explorer. Everyday he earned, he invested wisely, and slowly he became better.
One day, a particularly cold Monday morning, as he struggled to set up his "studio" he noticed a man, perhaps in his late thirties, holding what appeared to be a cup of coffee, looking distressed as he sat alone on a park bench.
The painter walked over and asked the stranger what was wrong. Of course, the stranger was reluctant to answer, why would he, it was a homeless man after all. "I can do two paintings for you free of charge" the painter said. At first, the stranger seemed unbothered, almost as though he had not heard the painter's words. But then his eyes changed, the stranger, as he realised the painter's offer. Keeping his coffee on the side, the stranger said, "yes please, show me what you got" rubbing his palms together as he regained a burst of energy and enthusiasm.
The painting carried and placed his drawing board and 45 minutes later, he had produced "one of the best portraits i've seen myself in" The stranger said. "You have saved me" he added. Clueless, how exactly could his art save a random man sitting on a park bench he wondered. "Here's my card. Come to this address tomorrow. We have business to discuss" said the stranger before getting up to leave.
The artist got up very early, to give two or three quick sketches the next morning at the price of 1 dollar before heading up to meet with the stranger from yesterday. Outside a tall white building, the stranger sat by the long and wide flight of stairs as the painter approached. "You made it!" He exclaimed, hugging the artist and dragging him towards the building" "I had just one day to produce an artist for the company or risk losing my job. I will admit, i'm a shit scout and I was about to be slapped by reality, but then God gave me another chance. He sent you" "You are about to paint for a bunch of people that will probably judge the person you are from top to bottom. But that does not matter, because you will show them what they've never seen in their miserable pretentious lives"
Hours later, the painter walked out of the building with his signature on a contract that made him 4 million dollars richer. With some of his best paintings up for sale and a place as one of the few creative directors there.
He went back to the University he visited a year earlier to ask for enrolment details. The academic year had started but it was fine by him, he was more than ready and patient enough to wait for a whole year. Taking the train as he usually did, he arrived a familiar part of town, and with a single knock on the door, a girl, probably about 19, opened the door. "Hi, Samira. You are going to college" he said, and she gave him a big hug. She invited him in and for the next few hours, they talked and talked, both excited at life for finally working in their favour.
After leaving his daughter's place. He went to a place where he used to pray, and at a point sleep when it got too cold. Standing in a small room, with the sound of water dripping from a faulty pipe on the roof, he said to the imam, "in sha Allah, this mosque will be as it should be in the coming months. You gave me shelter when I needed it and this shelter needs some work, so I will" And he did, he kept his promise.
By next year, he had turned the fortunes of the company he worked for around. His daughter was back in college, the local community mosque that once sheltered him was bigger and better.
And through this, every morning before he went to work, he will sit and paint nature before anyone asked to be painted, and he did so for free. And for everything he earned, he shared it with the people that were once like him, homeless, without a roof on their heads.
His only bad habit was that he smoked like a chimney, and he only cut down on his intake after being diagnosed with cancer. Rather than "waste" his earnings on "pointless" treatment that "could not stop the inevitable" he invested in an institution that helped disabled kids as well as kids from underprivileged backgrounds, selling everything he owned and making sure his investment lasted as long as it could even after he had gone.
In his last days, he chose to go back to sleeping in a subway by night and painting people by day. Eventually, his illness overpowered him. He was not a rockstar or a famous actor. He was not a celebrity and even some of his most valued customers did not know him by name. He was not on the cover of every magazine nor was he known by the public to be the founder of one of the few institutes that catered for the less privileged in that area, nor did they know that he was the sole reason a whole company was saved from dying off.
He believed in himself and he made people happy, he gave even though he had not much, and even though he received less than he gave in return, he was never discouraged to keep giving. He never saw his situation as misfortune, he saw it as an opportunity to be something bigger than the basic human perception of what life must be.
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