The unknown was born in a quiet, ordinary city and raised in a steady climate, undisturbed by storms or sudden changes. The houses were alike, the faces familiar, and the days passed at the same pace. Yet behind this calm, his heart teemed with sleepless questions. He had ideas and dreams he longed to give form to, even though he did not yet know which path to take.
He knew of his father only a name that echoed in official records, and of his mother only a fragmentary tale passed along in whispers. He grew up carrying the title “the unknown,” as if the name had become a destiny, as if absence itself were an inheritance. He learned early to befriend silence and to listen to what was left unsaid. In his solitude, he discovered that imagination is an alternative homeland, and that a dream needs no lineage to be born.
At school, he sat by the window—not because he preferred to drift away, but because he was searching for a meaning beyond the blackboard. He saw the world as an incomplete map and felt that it was his task to finish it himself. He wrote his first line in an old notebook: “I will not be a shadow.” He did not know then that this line would carry him far.
The unknown grew, and with him grew the desire to break the circle. He worked small jobs and learned from people more than from books. He saw injustice disguising itself as routine, and hope slipping through the simplest details. He realized that identity is not a document but an action, and that a name is completed only when its bearer believes in what he does.
On a cold night, he decided to leave. He carried nothing but a light bag and his old notebook. It was not an escape, but a search. He walked through many cities and faced more failure than success, yet every fall taught him how to rise under a new name. He became known for what he offered, not for what he lacked.
And when he returned one day to his quiet city, he was no longer that child gazing out the window. He returned knowing that the unknown is not a curse, but a space—and that the son of the unknown can forge his lineage through his work and write his name in a steady hand in the memory of days.
Thus ended the tale that began without a name—not with a resounding finale, but with a simple truth: one who does not know where he came from can choose where he is going.
Post a Comment