Mr. Tasha continued his way home calmly.
He did not feel any turmoil despite now knowing where his family was. It was true that he felt curious about his emotional reaction, but that did not mean he would abandon his composure.
He entered the house, changed his clothes, then exercised for a while. He prepared a cup of coffee and took a book to read...
After half an hour, Mr. Tasha went to the kitchen and prepared a light meal for himself.
His mind wandered slightly, He was thinking, analyzing himself.
Mr. Tasha had not forgotten anything from his past. A small child, four years old, playing outside the house.
At six, he began school. He was intelligent, and many praised him, but that did not mean he showed pride to gain his parents attention, All he wanted was to play and to fight...
As a child, Mr. Tasha once asked a question. It was a question larger than him at the time, yet smaller than him now.
What am I?
It was a question directed inward. Back then, he did not understand what he had said, but he remembered it.
Now he had grown beyond that question.
What was I?
Why did he never boast?
Why did he give generously without waiting for anything in return?
Why was he honest with himself and with others, instead of lying to himself and flattering others?
Perhaps Mr. Tasha had understood the world and life at a very young age without realizing it.
When he turned nine, his family was happy at first, but problems began to surface like boils. Unfortunately, his father did not know how to deal with them, and his mother could not properly guide the emotions those problems created. This led to a slow collapse.
By the time he was twelve, patience had run out.
They no longer had the capacity or awareness to solve even what was simple.
Sadly, Mr. Tasha became the outlet for their anger, frustration, and lack of responsibility. He was even made to bear the blame and was considered the mistake.
Things began with small arguments and ended with a cheating husband and an angry wife, a cheating wife and an angry husband.
Doubt prevailed, reason disappeared, and Mr. Tasha was deemed an error, Rejected, Expelled, The street, Then an orphanage, School, Work…
He became a young man, then a man, He carried his responsibility and fought for himself.
His circumstances were harsh. So what?
Circumstances were not something you lived in, but something you created.
At first, Mr. Tasha lived with a strange pain and an odd illusion, but he came to understand that not all bonds were real, and that time did not heal wounds... It merely covered them.
Only awareness healed wounds.
Was that past bad? So what as well? Mr. Tasha truly did not care.
He did not make the past an excuse, nor the future an excuse.
He had a goal, Even if desire and emotion were absent in pursuing that goal, then make the past fuel for it. Your embarrassing moments, your ignorance, your hardships… and even if the past was not enough, then simply make yourself enough to achieve the goal... That was Mr. Tasha.
Mr. Tasha smiled slightly, then laughed louder.
He laughed at himself. His self mockery was genuine maturity, an honest understanding of himself, He was aware of his thoughts.
"Family is nothing but just other people, They say a father is your best friend and a mother is your best school… all of that is nonsense." Mr. Tasha said clearly to himself.
He stretched his arms back, placed them behind his head, and leaned comfortably against the chair.
His mother's face, His father's face.
He still remembered them clearly, Their voices, Their mannerisms.
He looked up at the ceiling and thought more about his stance, Watching from afar and not interfering, That was his decision.
There was no bond between him and them.
Perhaps the cold, filthy street had been closer to him than his family ever was.
Even his relatives had not searched for him. In the end, he had truly been an outcast.
Yet despite all of that, he was still Mr. Tasha.