Sometimes you get an amazing student from Ethiopia by way of Turkey. Who says he’s never been asked to be introspective or write personal essays about existential questions. A student who explains that where he comes from people are preoccupied with food, shelter, and clothing. That there’s no context or momentum for what I’m asking.

Maslow and all.

He’s quiet in class. As in silent.

But, as it turns out, he’s listening closely and reading with an open mind. And oh, what a mind. As a result, he takes to being introspective like a duck to water.

And so he writes personally and beautifully about his family’s struggles and his own in a way that belies his youth. And starts to think that maybe he can help Ethiopians, and others in developing countries, start thinking about existential questions in ways that will benefit them.

A computer science major with serious math chops, he asks to talk after class.

“How can I improve?” I tell him, “Keep doing exactly what you’re doing—reading our texts closely, being introspective, and writing honestly about what you’ve overcome.” And “don’t deprive us of your insights during class discussions.”

He doesn’t think other students will relate to or understand his experiences since they’re so different. I suggest he might be surprised by the exact opposite, that they’ll be especially interested in his life experience because it’s so different.

He smiles at the thought and commits to contributing more. Meaning some.

I tell him he’s talented, that he could be a writer, that he has unique and compelling stories to tell.

And then, he says it. “I want to be a writer.”

My guess, he’ll travel the world; knock the technology ball out of the park; and become a popular, widely read writer.

To have played a small part in his journey is pretty damn cool.