Chapter 12: From Chaos to Direction

“Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.”

 — Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Alex’s room on the third floor stands like a fortress of solitude, sealed off from the world by the storms of his own thoughts. Dim light seeps through half-open curtains, casting trembling shadows on peeling wallpaper, revealing old, chaotic inscriptions beneath, half-hidden behind a wardrobe scarred by war’s wounds. Its hinges, loosened by countless blows and shoves, bear the marks of teenage rampages on its plywood surface. Toy cars are lined up on a shelf, and strange posters adorn the walls, speaking of Alex’s restless soul. A solitary lamp hanging in the center of the room, its weak purplish light barely reaching the scattered textbooks and dog-eared vision newspapers that carpet the floor. In one corner, a toy box sits like a time capsule—its contents untouched, but not forgotten. The broken sofa, a hand-down from his parents, replaced Alex's outgrown bed like a threadbare inheritance. Each object tells a story: the shuttered window, a boundary between his inner world and the chaos outside; the books, bridges to understanding; the scattered esoteric paper vision, evidence of a mind constantly in motion, searching for answers.  

Within these walls, Alex's thoughts spiral like an endless staircase, winding around and around, with no end in sight and no escape from the descent. Loneliness became his ethos. Questions echo in his mind: Am I doing enough? Why I am reading something I don't understand? Does this make sense? His ADHD shifts gears without warning and lights up like sparks on a fuse, each thought burning out quickly as another ignites, scattering focus across a dozen things simultaneously, doing much but achieving very little or none.

The familiar pressure of depression like an angel and the devil sits on his shoulders, contradicting each and every thought. Yet a deep quiet voice stirs beneath, like his unexplained eternal compass that guides him towards the unconventional, the escape of unexplained knowing.  Each book became a ladder, and each theory…a rope, helping him to climb out of the pit his childhood had dug. If only he could focus for longer.  Before his moment of new beginnings, Alex wandered through a year of darkness and misery. Alcohol, drugs and smoking became his getaway. Kicked out of evening school, he'd become a ghost in his own life—rebellious, jobless, directionless, refusing to bend to anyone's will, always angry and annoyed by everything. His defiance became his armor, his isolation a self-imposed prison.

“You can't waste your life like this,” people would say.

“'The only thing you're good at is digging ditches; no degree needed...” his stepfather would haunt him with these words, using sarcasm like a blade.  Alex felt like he was always trying to put him down, and the all-knowing negative narratives in his stepfather’s head soon became his own. Alex learned early that most advice comes with strings attached, more useful to someone else than to him. His self-confidence completely faded, so he could no longer distinguish who wished him well and who didn’t; all the people he knew became his enemies. Only two voices still could penetrate his emotional defense—his grandmother on his mother’s side and his grandmother on his biological dad’s side. Both of them carried the significance of unconditional love. His wise youngest grandmother, with her quiet strength, saw past his rebellion to the wounded soul beneath. "Your mind is too precious to waste," she'd tell him, her words carrying no judgment, only truth. “Education isn't about following rules—it's about finding your path.” One evening, as summer drew to a close, both grandmothers sat Alex down in their small kitchen; concern for his future was a fine topic of conversation, the air filled with the aroma of Arabic coffee and the warm murmur of their voices, interwoven with the clatter of a television in the next room.

“You're not afraid of school,” "Senele panele observed, pushing a cup toward the other grandmother, both looking at him with deep concern.

“You're afraid of hoping again,” said his other grandmother with deep empathy.”

“We know how it is…and we want the best for you,” said his mother’s mom.  Her words cracked something in his carefully constructed walls. His older grandmother, too, added her voice to this chorus of gentle wisdom.  “All we want is the best for you, and the best right now is you find a school that you like.” Their combined faith in him became a lifeline for Alex, because no one else had patience with him anymore or knew how to offer anything that made sense to Alex. 

That day Alex promised to find a school he was willing to attend and prove everyone wrong.  Now, months later, the college sprawls before him, a new universe waiting to be explored. Alex clutches his broken rose—a symbol both of his imperfection and his determination. He's painfully aware of his ill-fitting clothes and brick-cut hair, remnants of his year in the streets of Klaipeda. It was a beautiful autumn morning sun that caught the dew on manicured lawns, creating a display that made him momentarily forget his ripped shoes and undersized trousers. Students flow around him like water around a stone—well dressed and good-smelling, some hurrying and yet others lounging on the cold steps. The air carries snippets of conversation, bursts of laughter, and the distant toll of the college bell.  Here, among the ivy-covered attached buildings and tree-lined paths, his past seems both closer and farther away than ever. His grandmother's words echo in his mind:

“Education is not just about books—it's about finding yourself.”

For the first time in over a year, Alex feels the stirring of possibility. His rebellion hasn't disappeared—it's transformed into determination. No longer a weapon of self-destruction, but a tool for growth. The rose in his hand trembles slightly. He's still that defiant boy who is anxious about any conversation and wouldn't let anyone tell him what to do, but now he's also something more—a student ready to learn, not just from books but from life itself. His grandmother's faith in him becomes his first lesson: sometimes the strongest rebellion is choosing to grow.

Room 33 falls silent as Alex enters. A strong sense of unease washed over Alex as he noticed twenty pairs of eyes fixed on him; curiously observed by his peers, he encountered a mosaic of contrasts. He felt a warmth creeping up his neck, mingled with shame and a strange sensation of suddenly finding himself, without warning, at the center of attention. He felt a flush of warmth creep up his neck, a mixture of embarrassment and the peculiar sensation of being thrust into the spotlight without warning. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the only sound being the soft rustle of papers and the distant hum of the campus outside.  His unconventional appearance, from his brick-cut hair to his ill-fitting clothes and the broken rose, painted a picture of a young man not quite in sync with his surroundings —yet he still carried a sense of individuality and unspoken stories. It was these quirks, these small deviations from the norm, that set Alex apart and marked the beginning of an intriguing new chapter in his life at college.

As he took a step into the classroom, his gaze inadvertently swept across the sea of faces. That's when he saw her, Anatig. Seated towards the back of the room, nearing the big windows, she had a striking presence. Her eyes, a ruby shade of green, seemed to sparkle with an inner light, capturing Alex's immediate attention.  They held one another’s gaze for a beat or two.  It was a curious blend of amusement and empathy, as if she understood the awkwardness of his situation and found it endearingly human.  Anatig’s smile was another revelation. Beautiful big eyes and, straight, white smile that seemed to light up her whole face, creating an aura of warmth around her. Her hair, a cascade of long blonde strands, fell gracefully over her shoulders, complementing her striking features.

She wore a soft, puffy green sweater that seemed to reflect the color of her eyes. The sweater gave her a cozy, approachable look, making her seem like a serene oasis of calm among the classroom's charged atmosphere.  In that fleeting moment as their eyes met, a connection sparked. For Alex, the room, the staring eyes, the hum of the classroom, and dull noise from outside campus—all seemed to fade into the background. There was a sense of recognition, an unspoken understanding, passing between them. It was a moment of pure chance, an unexpected gift on the first day of his return, and it etched itself into Alex’s memory like a vivid flash of lightning, leaving an indelible mark on his heart.

The next three years become a dance of near-misses and careful distances. Alex, still wrestling with his demons that distracted his attention, seeking validation in fleeting encounters with other students and masking his ignorance through rebellion. These complexities of Alex's nature—his brilliant yet atypical mind, intertwined with the scars of his emotional experiences—painted a picture of a young man grappling with the dualities of his existence. On one hand, there was the intellectually gifted individual, capable of seeing the world through a lens that others could not. On the other hand, there was Alex, who, in the quiet moments, felt the influence of his unmet emotional needs, not really knowing how to cope longing for connections that would bridge the gaps of his past. Each brief connection served as a buffer against genuine intimacy, a pattern that famous clinical psychologist Jordan Peterson would recognize as the hero's reluctance to face his true journey.

“You’re running from me again,” Antig observes, on one of the days from the years of their past friendship. Alex felt her words break through his carefully constructed defenses each time. And it filled him with utter terror, because no one could control him the way she did. “I'm not running,” he protests, but they both knew better, Alex always be the one who speaks last. It takes another year—a year of growth, of facing his scattered thoughts and deep-seated fears—before Alex truly stops running and commits. By then, he's different. The lost boy with the broken rose has become a man who understands that real love requires courage, commitment, and safety. When he finally stands before Anatig's father, four years after that first meeting in Room 33, the stakes feel immeasurably higher.

On an unremarkable autumn day, bathed in golden sunlight, the crisp post-college air thick with the scent of fallen leaves, Alex stumbled into a moment that reshaped his understanding of commitment and responsibility, leaving an indelible mark on his restless soul. They were walking down Peace Prospect Street, Anatig's hand warm in Alex's, discussing their plans for graduate school. Then he felt it—the sudden absence of her touch. Anatig's hand slipped from his like water, an instinctive reaction that made his heart stutter. In that fraction of a second before he saw him the first time ever, Alex knew. The way Anatig's body tensed beside him, how her steps faltered—something was wrong. Then he spotted a figure approaching through the crowd, almost like a storm cloud on the horizon. “Father,” Anatig whispered, the word carrying years of complicated emotions. The space between their now-separated hands felt like an abyss, speaking volumes about unspoken rules and cultural expectations. Alex watched as Anatig unconsciously smoothed her hair and straightened her jacket—small gestures of someone shifting between worlds. Her father’s eyes deliberately shifted from their separated hands to Alex’s face, discerning and darkening his facial expression. The autumn leaves crowd parted around them, creating an impromptu arena for what was to come.

“So,” her father's voice cut through the street noise. “Who is this?” The gravity of Anatig's silence beside him told Alex everything and at the same time made him feel uneasy. This wasn't just an unexpected meeting—it was a moment of worlds colliding, of private joy meeting public scrutiny. The careful distance Anatig now maintained between them felt like the first battle in a war he hadn't known he would be fighting.

“The boy who thinks he deserves my daughter,” his voice tone has changed. Alex felt his throat tighten, but stands his ground, straightened his shoulders, and looked straight into his eyes.

“I know everything about you,” her father continued, his accent thickening with emotion. “The girls you chased in college, the classes you failed, the jokes you played on my daughter with your imbecile friends, your...episodes of rebellion. Did you think nobody was watching?” He lets out a bitter laugh.  “In our community, everyone watches.”

The words hit like physical blows, each one targeting Alex's deepest insecurities. “You believe that you are deserving of Anatig because you have improved your behavior over the past year?” Her father steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "My daughter, if you do anything to hurt her... you’ll meet my friends, and if necessary, we’ll bury you underground." Alex felt a strange emotion rising with his truth. His hands clench and unclench at his sides. “You're right,” Alex said, his voice steady despite his racing heart. “She does deserve to be respected and loved.  Yes, I made mistakes—many of them, and those mistakes taught me to love, respect and commit.” He meets the older man's gaze directly. “And that's how I know what I feel for Anatig is real.”

“Pretty words from a practiced charmer.”

Alex doesn't break eye contact with the father.

“I don't have much, sir,” Alex continues, his voice growing stronger.

“My past isn't clean. My future isn't guaranteed. But I have something now that I never had during those wild years—purpose. And yes, determination.” He took a deep breath.  “I with your daughter not because she completes me, but because she inspires me to complete myself.”

Later, Antig’s family’s resistance becomes not only an obstacle but also an unwitting catalyst for his transformation. Alex’s story doesn’t end with a single small victory; it continues as a heroic journey, bringing back a nugget of wisdom’s gold from the depths of chaos. From a rebellious, distracted youth, he gradually transforms into a man who dares to stand against tradition and speak the truth, consciously bearing the burden of responsibility. Antig’s father’s threats— “we’ll bury you underground”, become a metaphor, revealing how deeply one must dig to uncover true selfhood. Alex turns this threat into a foundation for growth, proving to Antig’s family that their fears about him were misguided. His path to meaning lies not in avoiding suffering or chaos but in transforming it into something valuable, boldly facing life’s most painful truths. Each step, from Antig’s words piercing his defenses to a sunlit autumn day scented with fallen leaves, marks a new phase of Alex’s commitments, guiding him toward a more mature, purposeful life.

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