You Know That Annoying Type: Always Elbowing To Front And Center

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You know the type, we’ll do.

First to stand when the plane lands, closest spot facing the tour guide, front and center in all photos — whether it’s a baby shower or a funeral.

Unbearably irritating.

But behind that pushiness was a story I never expected.

It goes back to my college days.
There was one in the dorms who never shied away from racing to the prime spot — for everything. Annoyed as we were, the rest of us still got a good laugh, vividly mimicking his antics behind his back.

Then, one day, it all changed — for me.

It was a Saturday evening, and I was minding my own business — sipping from a smuggled beer at a campus hideout. He walked in by accident, holding one in his hand. We barely knew each other, but my private rumination quickly turned into a drinking-with-a-buddy ritual.

Since, I’d long contemplated what could possibly drive his behavior, half bottle in, I had courage to ask him directly.

“Why the fuck you’re like this?”

He didn’t understand where I was coming from.

Reading out a few case files with indisputable facts cleared the matter.

Then, what he said next changed everything — the way I saw him, how quickly I judged people, and how blind I’d been to the silent weight others might carry.

The Story Behind That Pushiness

This was eight years ago. He was twelve. She was seven — his little sister. He loved her more than anything. She was the only one who made him feel like a hero.

Every afternoon, she’d be waiting for him outside her school gate —one hand always holding onto a Barbie doll like it was sacred.

She was crazy about barbie then — a couple of years ago, it was dinosaurs. Now her world was made of glitter and plastic heels.

That winter, he secretly peeked into her Letter to Santa when she was asleep hugging a Ballerina Barbie.

“Dear Santa, I don’t want new doll this year. I want to go to Big Barbie party. Please please please”

That big event was set for the day after Christmas. Tickets would go on sale in two days.

That morning, he skipped school and boarded a train downtown to make her secret wish come true.

The ticket booth was swarmed — impatient parents yelling. Elbows flying. He stood there for a long time… hesitant.

Then he turned around. Empty handed.

That Christmas Eve she cried for hours.

“There’s always the next Christmas, right? I’ll take you next year,” he wiped her tears.

She believed him with teary but hopeful eyes.
“Promise?”
“I promise,” he lied.

Spring came. Then summer. Then something changed.

It started with a cough that wouldn’t stop.

The pneumonia was sudden. She was so small in that bed, surrounded by big machines.

She still believed in his promise… till her last day.
And he hated himself for it.

It’s been years now.
He’s first in line for everything — even the things that don’t matter.

Sometimes the only moment that stays… is the one you missed.

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Author’s Note

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