Lost in identities

His name is …I don’t really know…they just call him with whatever names very near to their lips. Sometimes they address him with merely “You”, other times “young”, and most of the time “weirdo”. It sounds more like a put-down than a fair-minded observation, yet there are no excuses for these devalued names, they can only describe what I see. It doesn’t mean that the young doesn’t possess a name…he just detaches himself from this worthless possession.
He always sits on a sofa situated in the corner of the room…pondering…if the room is occupied with guests, he locks himself in the bathroom and sits on the toilet seat for it’s the only comfortable and isolated place in the house, thinking in undisturbed stillness… His silence and motionlessness in there, brings suspicion to his mother, then a surprising knock on the door echoes in his mind and pulls him back to reality… he is all the time wanders out of existence. Sometimes he looks back at the past …he remembers all his close friends …remembers how they used to use him as a staircase…yet he loves most of them and pities all of us. ”I watered them, but they might have withered else in dry seasons” D. Thoreau. That’s one of the quotes the young wrote in his diary.
His absentmindedness snatches him out of his actual world...just like Walter Mitty…but the “young” has no dreams…he doesn’t bother himself with such nonsense, he is like a piece of wood drifted by the furious waves of life, his interest in the future dwindled down as a result of different opinions.
Each member of his family wants him to be a replica of them, wants him to drop his thoughts and follow their footsteps. That’s what sets up ferment in his brain…different scenes passes swiftly before his mind. Picturing his stern father told him while he twirled his mustache ends, that he must study hard to be a gentleman, to have a family and provide for them. Imaging his sensitive careworn mother urges him to pray to god, to be a pious man and to be ready to battle against the squalor of the world. Seeing his garrulous ostentatious grandfather flipping his coin up and said: “the only way to play with people is to gain more of this “and he pointed to the coin between his fingers and laughing derisively. Yet none of these words satisfy his curiosity, nobody quenches his thirst for a meaning, no one understands him. He keeps looking at the world from above and fancying people running around like terrified chickens chasing the dust. He doesn’t want to be a bloody robot like his father, he hates studying for it takes away the most precious thing we have which is “thinking”. It’s impossible for him to achieve his mother’s wish as he can’t commit himself to divine uncertainties. For him money wrapped us up in pleasurable illusion just like what happens to his grandfather. He thinks that we handed over our power and we became two-legged sheep. He neither labors with blind obedience nor does he lead a life of quiet desperation. His heart leapt up in fear, confusion and desire. Thus, he decided to go beyond his comfort zone. One day, the “young” sank out of sight, he just disappeared, leaving a note stuck on the refrigerator door in which he says “I’m going to look for myself”....