Jul 12

Rotsen’s Eyes

A guy with an envelope on his hand approached to ask me if I could be a sitter. I was dumbfounded, of course. But before I gave him that same smile Rose gave to Jack, I sipped Pierre’s melting left-over ice cream.

We were at the perfect place. I was seated on a bench beside the St Joseph cathedral. I was facing the children’s playground where my son was happily swinging on. The sun was about to set which would somehow add drama to the lighting. But after fetching Pierre from school and going from there to the cathedral by foot that made me sweat all over, it wasn’t really the perfect time.

But how could I say no? It wasn’t about me, anyway. It was about a young man who was trying to make a living through his talent. I just couldn’t say no to that. So, when he nodded in agreement to my “Make me beautiful” request, I fixed my hair and forced a smile.

Then, he began staring at me, memorizing my facial features. And because it felt awkward to just stare back at him, I started a conversation to know him better (and to make sure that he wasn’t a scam).

His name is Rotsen. Why Rotsen? You guessed it right. His father’s name is Nestor. And what makes this story more interesting is that we went to the same high school with only six years apart. He used to design houses and buildings for a company. After being employed for six years, he finally gave up his corporate life and started doing what he loves – portrait drawing.



It only took him fifteen minutes to finish his ballpen-on-whatsoever-paper masterpiece.

rotsen's eyes

And on that fifteen minutes, I wasn’t sitting still. I was interviewing him, laughing at his jokes and looking after my son. And the best part was he charged me for a value that was way less than the new friendship we made, the laughter we shared, the small chat we had, and the inspiration that this promising man brought me. Can’t help! I’m a frustrated artist.

Say something. Leave a trail.

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