They say that to see the true nature of man, one has to strip him of all belongings, of all social status, of all friends, of all family. His strongest desires, unfiltered by these limiters to freedom, would perhaps offer some insight into what we call a human being, a person.

Or at least, that’s what I think they might say. You see, I’m neither a wiseman nor a philosopher. I don’t have piles of painful experience accumulated over the few years of my life, nor have I met anyone who has who would tell me the tale. But for a short while, for just an instant, I knew just how strong of an influence even the smallest of possession might have on the paths we take and cross on our way to the one ultimate destination.

Do you have money? I never had much money. Not that it matters, it’s just to say, I never had much possessions to begin with. You’d think I was unhappy? Well, to an ordinary person it might seem this way, but in truth, I was never sad about it, I never felt unprivileged. So what if the other kids had toy cars and Lego’s to play with? I had the sand, the rocks and the branches at my disposal. So what if they dressed in shiny new clothes? I never was into fashion and couldn’t care less about it. I was not once bothered by it. Not once. I never wanted anything money could buy; I didn’t value anything money could buy.

Have you ever been in love? I have. Oh, no, it’s not what you think. I was never in love with a person. But why would love be limited to the living? No, I was in love with an object. I was in love with a notebook. My notebook. I don’t remember how I got it, as I know I didn’t buy it. Maybe it was a gift, or perhaps a kid simply lent it to me. All that is irrelevant. What’s important is, that notebook meant the world to me. I couldn’t say why. But I know my notebook was a wonderful listener, never complaining. It also had the best of memory, better than mine.

In my notebook, I would write my thoughts. I would sometimes just doodle in it. I would draw. I would mention things I wanted to remember. I would write down my dreams, my fears. I would write down my blessings and my curses, pour down my tears, joy, hate... It held the essence of my soul, perhaps was my soul.

Are you a calm person? I am a calm person. Or maybe I’m just a frightful person? I’d never been in a fight. I’d never screamed at anybody, never sworn at anybody. Nobody ever provoked me into anything. And they tried. Oh, they tried. But it’s okay. I was never alone. I had my love with me. No humiliation was more than I could handle. No pain was more than I could handle. Until that day.

I still can’t explain it. It was a day like any other. I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. No event during the day suggested what would happen next. But happen it did just as well. My notebook. It was gone. Lost. I almost never left it, why did I have to do it on that day? But leave it I did. I was called by the teacher to do some errands out of the classroom for her. That was nothing unusual, but the nature of the task that day required me to leave the notebook behind. Well, not require; it just was easier without it. When I returned to the classroom, my notebook was nowhere to be found.

Sweat poured from me. I felt my t-shirt dampen, and then stick to my shoulders, to my back, to my chest. Droplets formed on my forehead, rolled down on my cheeks, on my neck. My eyes stung. Cold, unpleasant sweat. My heart was pounding louder than usual. I went through my stuff once, twice, three times… I looked under the desks, in the cabinets, even in the trash. I was spinning around like crazy, making me dizzy. My notebook was nowhere to be found. Something was pressing me on my chest now, heavy, unbearable. It almost brought tears to my eyes. Finally, I saw it through the window.

Some of my classmates. The ones that try to provoke me. Today they finally succeeded. I was there in a matter of seconds, breathing hard, but starting to feel an uncontrollable rage build up inside me. I was like a soda can shaken too much, a balloon inflated too much, a deodorant tossed into the flame. I was about to explode. Their sneers only made it worse. And all I could do now was stare in disbelief as they lit my notebook on fire. The fuse had been lit. Nothing, not even a saint, could prevent what was about to follow.

I’m sorry for what I did. I truly am. Never before in the few years of my life had I acted so much on impulse, so little on reason. I just grabbed the nearest, biggest rock I could find, and ran towards them. It took them by surprise. They were hit, on the head, on the face, on their arms, on their body. I didn’t know I had so much strength. I had never seen so much blood before. Somebody called 911, I don’t remember much before or after that. And my notebook was no longer there to remind me.

All I know is, I’m sorry for what I did. What happened can never be turned back, can never be made up for. One had to get plastic surgery. Another had his nose and some ribs broken. A third will never be able to see again. And the fourth, me, had to serve his time in prison. I now tread a different path. Someday I’ll have money, and I’ll be able to get the toys the other adults get. Someday they’ll see me as a calm person again. Someday, I’ll find love once more.