No beauty in flowers

The places we go are made of who we are, what we find and those we meet right then. Each experience is unique.
I met Alex at the hostel, a shy mathematician from Belarus who was there on holidays to improve his English. He spoke with great difficulty and I had to use all my ability to somehow translate his ideas. We ended up taking a stroll together to do some sightseeing, and got to a wonderful garden with richly ornated buildings at its core. He would comment on every technical detail of what we spotted. It was interesting to meet someone so deeply connected to the rational aspect of things. At some point, I stopped by a bush in full bloom, outstanding from its surroundings, and praised its beauty. Alex disagreed, and I asked why. He said flowers and plants were explained by the concept of fractals in Math, and he had never studied fractals enough to understand them, so he couldn’t see beauty there. I was really caught up by his way of assimilating our world.
The next morning the sun was mild and a warm light greeted me early in bed, inviting me to go down to the beach. I was walking by the wet sand still devoid of tourists when an old worm-collector approached me. He had spotted my analog camera and told me when he was my age he loved to take photos, and that he even got some of his work published by local papers. He spoke so avidly of his passion and how I should always be hopeful towards my wishes, he truly set something alive in my heart. After Alex’s strict Math, I felt warmed up by that serene old guy, collecting worms in the low tide with such a lively speech on the pursuing of dreams.
I had walked less than five minutes along the receded shoreline when Alex found me. He had rented a pair of chairs by the beach and asked me to sit with him and watch the sea. It was a wonderful morning, the kind I’d rarely allow myself were I alone, for I’d think I should be actively exploring. The idea of spending time solely observing the sun reach its peak, the beach get slowly populated and human voices merge with the seagulls in a cheerful background was something fresh for me.
I thought about Alex and the old guy and how the world was so diverse and full of wonders if you just allowed yourself to find – or be found – by them. I asked Alex if I could take his photo. He said yes, if I promised to send it to him in thirty years.
Oh, the curious reasoning of a man! Let’s see who I’ll have become then, for we are never the same person we were two miles ago.