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“If I could go back in life, I would work less and enjoy things more,” was one of the last things he told me on the phone, not out of regret but to give me a new piece of advice, which ended up being his last. Our last conversation was lighthearted because one never knows the meaning of a moment.

One day after his funeral, as I walked through the old corners of the city of my past lives, as if taking my sadness out for a walk with the secret hope of losing it at some intersection, I crossed paths with many people, too many for the moment, most of whom I did not know or was not able to recognize after so many years. One of them told me: “I had the best time of my life when I worked for your father. The man knew how to set up projects in any city and we all went together.”

“I was a student of your father,” another gentleman, whom I did recognize from some years back, told me. “I was a lost boy when I met him. He gave me my first job and showed me how to be part of a team. If it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t be who I am today nor would I have the family that I have.”