YD Asmall, the man with impeccable timing

My friend YD and I were very close. He was a mentor when I needed one and a role model when I was floundering without a rudder.

He was probably the smartest and funniest man I have ever met, and my only regret was that I met him too late in my life, and in his.

In 1996 when we met he was already well into his seventies.

His mind was razor sharp and his timing was extraordinary.

Often I came back from having spent a day with him, and my head was sore, from operating at a high gear for too long.

I know what I was getting from that friendship, but I questioned what he got from the time we spent together, and years later I have come to realize that he needed to connect with a new audience. What I brought to the table was simply a fresh perspective. He spent his life creating his world and accumulating knowledge and he needed to share it with somebody.

He had incredible presence and commanded respect from everyone whose lives he touched. I was in awe of the fact that everyone around him was in awe of him.

When this man took you into his life, it was absolute. During the years of our friendship, I felt like I was a part of his family. I regularly ate at his table and he came home to ours.

In hindsight, I think that it was this, more than anything else that I needed. We were doing ok in the big city, but having just come out of a huge disaster with a failed business, I needed the sense of "belonging" that he offered. At that moment in time, I needed a mentor, someone whose life's experiences I could learn from.

YD showed me what it was like to live when you weren't chasing your tail. 

And this more than anything was what I took away.

My ambitious attempts at using my social skills and my newly discovered,  (previously unknown) skills with computers to claw up the corporate ladder had met with some success.

We were still living beyond our means and unable to break through the divide, that separated the moderately successful, from the really successful.

This driving need to make it big was an obsession that in retrospect would have destroyed everything in my life.

I already, at the time had all I needed to be happy, 

I just didn't realise it until much later.

I was ambitious, with the arrogance of youth. My years of seclusion in the farm had honed my social abilities. This might sound like a contradiction, but it's funny how when you are schooled by books and interaction with customers, you get to refine your interpersonal skills better than you would have to live in a culturally segregated suburb in the city.

Just as I was overwhelmed by the big city, I found that I too was a novelty, to the city. Small town bright boy with all the amazing ideas. I believed we could do anything, and I might even have, become insanely successful. I was prepared to pay any price and would have sold my soul to have a shot at the big time.

We had to "go big or go home", and if we had to cut corners, and massage the reality to fit our grand five-year plan, then that is what we would do. I didn't know any other way to get to the top and I certainly didn't want to remain at the bottom.

In the decade I was with YD, he helped me see that there was another way. One could think freely, and explore all lines of thought, without censure, while still remaining a part of the community.

While still remaining human.

You didn't have to give up everything and everyone, if you thought your mind worked differently, you could be all kinds of crazy and still have the respect of your peers.

And he was all of that, and then some. YD bought the house next to his and had all the internal walls removed. What was left was a beautifully restored shell that he converted into a huge library, and office. The backyard was a manicured Japanese rock garden. All the walls were lined with books. More books than most bookshops. Topics ranging from religion to philosophy,  including most contemporary works of fiction and art. This 'man cave' included a fully fitted gym, and chilling area, replete with reclining chairs and big screen TV.

The entire back wall of this "studio" was removed and replaced with glass stackable doors that opened completely exposing the pebble garden.

When he walked, to and from his home next door, it exposed him to the elements, so he had a plexiglass catwalk constructed. A completely see-through tunnel that allowed him to slip between the buildings without getting wet.

He liked to sit in a recliner, and when he realised that everyone preferred a recliner,  he replaced all his sofas with recliners. All his guests got a recliner of their own! Money was no object and the man had style.

He actually hired a librarian (who happened to be a pretty woman) to catalogue his vast book collection.

He travelled a lot. And in that decade we travelled regularly, together. He showed me New York, London, Chicago, Singapore and many other cities, and I must add, we travelled like kings. He flew coach on principal but slept five star and we ate at the best places. And we walked. This old man was fit and I had to work hard just to keep up.

London was his favourite and he knew the city really well. We would walk from one end to the other and his perfect sense of direction would find us zigzagging through alleys and easily travelling from Edgware to Soho and back, on foot, often in the middle of the night.

He read a lot and had a brilliant memory and as a result was able to talk about anything.

And we did. We spoke about anything and everything.

His life and experiences were a wealth of knowledge and he was generous with this knowledge.

If ever there was somebody who was up for anything it was YD. We went to musicals and dance performances. Jazz festivals, street festivals, Operas and art exhibitions.

I learnt that you didn't have to chase money. You could be comfortably well off and simply enjoy your wealth without having to "blow your gaskets" in pursuit of dreams of greatness. In him I saw the end game, and I realised that if this was where I wanted to be,  I needed to go back and start over, without the crazy frantic clawing to succeed and then maybe I would succeed, and maybe I wouldn't, but either way, I would be honest and I would try to be as truthful as I could be and my child might one day be proud of me.

Old friend

You may forget,

But I will not.

Mohammed Parak.