Farewell, My Dear Dead Friend

A Song is ended, But the Melody Lingers on.

— Irving Berlin

Suddenly I think about a friend. I wish I can thank him personally, but sadly I can’t. He passed away about fifteen years ago. This is a story about my thanksgiving gratitude, which taught me how important humor was in life. And this is my story of life influences life.

How we met

We don’t have a lot in common; he played soccer while I played basketball. The only thing we are in common should be lived nearby, just 3 to 5 minutes away, and we would walk back home together.

Man-Kit was my teammates on the athletics team. He was a year older than me. I forgot how we met, and we didn’t talk much. We befriended me since he liked one of my classmates, who was so-called the prettiest girl in my year.

At first, he only wanted to know more about the girl. I was fine with that but not interested in being the middle man for anyone relationship. We started talking more on the way home.

Bad Jokes

One thing that made him so special is he always told me bad jokes, horrible jokes. Like he loved memorizing long and difficult to pronounce words and say them quickly, again and again.

One day he kept saying “2,4-Dinitrophenylhydrazine” — which was the longest chemical name in chemistry lessons. And I still remember it thanks to him. Another day after, he had music lessons and watched Les Miserables. He then sang the song “Do you hear the people sing” in 1.5x to 2.0x speed.

“And joining the fight that will give you the right to be free!” He kept singing this sentence really fast. For a non-native speaker, saying this sentence quickly is a bit clumsy. But I didn’t think it was amusing, though. Only did I laugh because he sounded so funny.

At my time, we had two public exams in secondary school. The second one was in the final year. I didn’t realize how enjoyed I was with his company until he graduated and started preparing for his exam. We took the only photo together on his last day.

I forgot those days, and life continues. Only did we met a few since then — most of the time with other friends. I didn’t miss those jokes yet. As I do not know, I never had a chance to hear from him anymore.

A year after, I was unlucky and could get into the same University. We caught up on old times and talked about the coming campus life. While I was waiting for my freshman year’s orientation camp, he was sent to the hospital because of a long fever.

He was healthy, as I said we were sporty and played sports since we were young. He was diagnosed with leukemia. His friends and I were shocked. I visited him once after leaving the hospital in remission, and he said he was okay. I believed so. We laughed about we could get back to the University and became the same year students.

It was a partial remission.

I remembered I was in the dorm when I heard the news. My roommates asked me what happened, and I froze. I said nothing like someone was covering my mouth.

But he never returned.

He was the first person who was close and passed away.

I do not know how to grieve. It was only sadness, and that was the moment I started to miss what we did together. Finally, I realized it could never happen again.

Another sad thing is common friends are no longer friends anymore. When we met, we think about him, and our eye contact evaded. We knew we both missed him.

Sadness faded with time. And becoming an adult teaches me that people come and goes in life. I still recalled some memories from time to time. One day in my Organic Chemistry Lesson, I saw the chemical formula. The one that was so special that I could draw it out in my mind.

“2,4-Dinitrophenylhydrazine”

I broke the silence and boring mood in the room by laughter.

Everyone in the lecture hall looked at me. I was not embarrassed but relieved (Sorry, Professor). And that moment did I find a way to remember him.

That is why I like comedy. I enjoy watching them, even if they were bad.

Since then, I keep telling jokes. The funny ones are great, but the bad ones are even more hilarious. It is not always about the content but the emotion you want to infect others. It is like happiness can transfer from the speaker to the audience.

So wonderful that I can help him to continue his bad jokes. Laughter is what we remember, not the jokes or us. Making touches of laughter had become a mission of my life, and I want to continue what he did.

It was the laughter that I remembered.

Thank you for reading—happy reading and telling bad jokes.