When every moment is treasured for the way it teems with meaning, one’s life is not easily plotted through “important” events. Andrew Arida valued life this way. Every sunset with friends had cinematic significance. His piano playing, whether driving or delicate, always tried to conjure a stadium, and deep communication, rousing or silent, was the single best measure of a good time.
Andrew Arida was born in Montreal in 1970 but spent preteen years in Algeria when his father took work there as an engineer. His mom felt deeply for her lonely son and invented activities to entertain him – his favourite was a golf course she made by attaching nine napkins to sticks in the sand. Despite her efforts, those years were profoundly isolating. Andrew found solace in his Walkman and music became a religion.
In 1993, with university flame Leanna and a new degree in psychology, Andrew moved to Vancouver, taking a job as a student recruiter for the University of British Columbia. For the next 30 years, he steadily climbed the ranks of the Registrar’s office, using his trademark compassion, humanity and a robust sense of humour to end the anonymity students feel when faced with an impenetrable institution. At the same time, he held students up to the highest possible standards – his.
Over the years, the parallel pursuits of job and music became divergent roads. While his 17-year-old self fought him along the way over unrealized goals, adult Andrew came to realize his teenage self was , just “too young to understand the blessings that compromise brings.
Last summer, Andrew went to retrieve his son who was out longer than agreed upon. He parked the car, walked toward a silhouette he recognized, then stopped. His son was sitting with his friends at the highest point in the park, watching the sun go down over the sea, leaning into each other for warmth. Andrew saw himself with his own friends in 1984 as the sun set over the Glenmore Reservoir, talking about girls and Europe and making it in music.