表妺好紧居然流水了

When we are born, do we remember everything? Is everyone born with the same composure?

If two newborn babies from different parents were put into the same environment, would they naturally become the same?

Does only our environment affect our lives and not our own beings? Or do the things that we define as our individuality stem from the environment?

What makes us what we are?

The first thing I remember is the color of grey.

The sky is gray; the walls are grayish…..The smell of the world that feels grayish…

I was staring at that gray ceiling in my first memory.

Before showing any interest in staring or playing with my fingertips, I simply wondered what this place was.

Well, calling it wondering might not be right. If wondering about something is an act that is done by the completely developed mind, mine was something that was instinctual.

Something that came from our evolutionary roots, something that we humans have done before we acquired the ability how to think.

Day after day, I spent more and more time just staring at that ceiling.

At first, I cried. I cried because I missed people, and then I learned that no one was coming to help me.

Now that I look back on it, it was instinct, not logic.

This is the first thing a newborn baby, who cannot even speak, learns when it accepts its environment.

After that, I realized the existence of my fingers.

I spent all day long looking at, sucking, and licking my little fingers, and nothing else, in the emptiness.

The nourishment necessary for life was never brought to me.

Do you ever know how it felt as a newborn baby with an empty stomach? Your whole body is in the process of developing, and yet there is no nutrition that it can develop on.

For a new human who just appeared in the real world, what could be more detrimental?

Lack of parents? Something like a parental figure that a human needs to develop both mentally and physically?

In the face of the real lack of three basic needs of life, are parents important?

04:17

The children of streets….Those who had never seen their parents in their lives, nor had any food that was prepared just solely for their sake….

For them….For us….The world is not a kindergarten but a game of survival in which you will lose your comrades one by one every day.

It is a cruel and harsh world different from the one of those like you who are now reading this from your comfortable and warm houses.

In this world of survival, losing friends became a routine, not due to a misunderstanding or a simple disagreement, but from hunger, from the lack of hygiene, from making wrong people enemies, from not abiding by the rules of the streets.

The streets had their own laws, unwritten yet absolute, dictating who could eat, who could survive, and who would inevitably perish.

But who are the ones that survive? Do they possess the same characteristics?

At that time, I didn\'t know about the term Natural Selection at all. But it was clearly laid in front of my eyes.

From the corners of the streets, when some of my \'friends\' were getting beaten, I watched and listened.

As the days passed, I began to understand the importance of possessing the abilities that enabled me to observe and understand.

It wasn\'t a hobby; it was a skill crucial for survival. The keen sense of awareness, the ability to read situations, and the skill to discern \'friend\' from foe became my weapons in this unforgiving environment.

For me, a friend was something that was useful for the sake of my survival. Something that I could never achieve with my own physical abilities alone.

From the day we were born, I realized that humans were never equal to begin with. Some always were stronger than others, some were faster, some were better at fighting, some were more emotionally strong, and some were more clever.

Was I a clever person?

I never knew. What are the criteria for measuring cleverness? Is it the speed of understanding something? Is it the depth that one can go in one subject? I didn\'t know.

But, neither did I have to.

In this place of survival, we never had the need to hang on to some random definitions. Those are the problems that can only be created by humans who live in a world different from ours. In a world so comfortable that they have the need to create their own problems.

Survival meant mastering the art of adaptation and learning quickly from every encounter, every loss, and every mistake.

The streets demanded constant vigilance, a perpetual sharpening of instincts, turning every moment into a potential threat or opportunity.

In this harsh reality, the world became a classroom, and the lessons weren\'t taught by teachers but by the merciless trials of the streets.

It was a place where weakness was exploited, and strength was respected. It was a brutal education in the school of life, where the curriculum was written in the language of scars and survival.

There was no room for sentimentality; emotions were a luxury we couldn\'t afford.

No, for me, I always knew.

Those emotions that we call. They were a clear weakness that needed to be eliminated. The sense of fondness that you form with the people that you hold close to.

When the necessary time comes, that fondness will be detrimental if you need to cut the people close to you.

After all, if you don\'t survive, does it matter that you feel that fondness?

As the days turned into months and months into years, I began to see people as pawns on a chessboard that we call the real world.

It was a natural reaction, or so I convinced myself.

With my limited physical capabilities, manipulating others became the only way I could ensure my survival.

If it was the strong eating the weak, then I was never going to let myself get eaten, and for this sake, using others was a necessity.

It was not like those people didn\'t reap any benefits from my acts either, as the closer they were to me, the safer they would be.

In this board, the most important piece is the one that is saved until last after all…..Or is it?

The life can never go as we always expect. Humans are unpredictable in their own way, and as they are more mentally unstable, they become more non-linear.

But after some point, what kind of person I was became evident to others.

As the realization of my true nature spread, so did my power. The chessboard of the streets was under my control, and I reveled in the authority I held over the pieces. However, the faster I rose, the harder I fell.

The very qualities that propelled me to the top—cunning, manipulation, and a disregard for sentimentality—became the seeds of my downfall.

I became arrogant, convinced that I was invincible in this ruthless game. I underestimated the ever-shifting dynamics of human relationships and the unpredictability of the streets.

The people I once considered pawns in my game started to rebel. Loyalties shattered, alliances crumbled, and trust evaporated like mist.

The web of control I had meticulously woven began to unravel, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.

As I faced the consequences of my own arrogance, the harsh reality of the streets hit me with brutal force.

The same people I had used as shields were now turning against me. Betrayal cut deeper than the wounds from street fights, and the fall from power was swifter than the ascent.

But the betrayal wasn\'t the one that came from the ones that I kept close to. After all, they were mere pawns to whom I held no attachment.

The reason for the feeling of betrayal was myself. It was my own nature that betrayed me. There was that feeling that I had still yet to cut off from my very being, even if I had cut others.

Without connecting with others, I connected to myself, developing a trait that made me revel when I witnessed the scene where everything went according to my wishes.

In the cold, hunger-ridden nights, I found myself alone, stripped of the false sense of security I had crafted. The pain of getting beaten was not just physical but a reminder of the mistake I had made.

The darkness closed in, and I could feel the chill seeping into my bones.

As I lay there, on the brink of what would probably be called despair, I couldn\'t help but reflect on the choices that led me to this point.

The arrogance, the overestimation of my own importance—all of it was a recipe for my own undoing.

In the end, the world didn\'t spare me from my mistake.

Closing my eyes from the cold, hunger, and pain of getting beaten, I accepted my fate. This was something I deserved, as I had lost in this world of power.

But then, something appeared right before my eyes, a hand that was reached to me.

Aren\'t you quite a fine gem? ?

In that moment of uncertainty, survival instincts kicked in. I grabbed the offered hand without hesitation.

It was the only way for me to live, to escape the impending fate that awaited me in the cold darkness.

Yet I knew there was nothing in this world that was given to us free. I knew no one needed to pay for anything.

Some paid it with money, and others with their lives.

But in the end, everything had a price that we needed to pay.

The one whose hand I had taken led me away from the unforgiving streets, from the cycle of hunger and violence.

The journey took me to a facility, a place where many other children were brought. From that moment on, my life would take a drastic turn, veering into a path I could never have foreseen.

Yet, for me, it was always better than dying. And just as I knew inwardly, everything revealed itself instantly at once.

The facility was not a refuge but a breeding ground for a new kind of survival.

As I stepped into this unknown world, I entered another place, one that would highly likely shape my future.

But then again, once a person becomes who they are, they tend to change less.

At least, this is what I know.

And what is valid for me.