Thomas's breath was still racing, gasping for air like someone who had just escaped death. His back was pressed tight against the rough bark of the banyan tree, his legs pulled close to his chest. In front of him, Lake Kenanga lay calm, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside his head.
Dimas defended me. Dimas said it was an accident. Dimas missed me.
Those sentences swirled around, tearing his defenses apart. Thomas buried his face between his knees, wishing he could just disappear.
Footsteps could be heard approaching. Slow, rhythmic, crunching on dry leaves.
Thomas didn't lift his face. He hoped whoever it was would leave if he stayed silent. However, the footsteps stopped right near him. There was no greeting, no question asking, "What's wrong?"
There was only the sound of a body slowly sitting down on the long wooden bench, about two meters from where Thomas was curled up on the ground.
It was Mr. Rudi.
The middle-aged man sat calmly, stretching out his legs, and placing his thick book on his lap. He didn't look at Thomas under the tree. He just stared at the lake, as if the presence of a mentally shattered student on the ground was a natural part of the afternoon ecosystem.
They sat in a long silence.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
Strangely, the silence wasn't demanding. There was no pressure to speak. There was only the sound of the wind rustling softly through the banyan leaves and the soothing lapping of the lake water. Mr. Rudi's silent presence felt like an anchor, keeping Thomas from drifting completely into madness.
Slowly, Thomas's breathing began to regulate. He lifted his disheveled face, staring at Mr. Rudi's serene side profile.
"Sir..." Thomas's voice sounded hoarse, broken, and hollow.
Rudi didn't turn immediately; he let his ears catch the sound fully.
"Have you ever..." Thomas swallowed, his throat feeling dry. "Have you ever made a fatal mistake to someone else? A mistake so grave that you feel... unworthy of forgiveness?"
Only then did Rudi turn. His gaze wasn't shocked. There was a look of recognition there, as if he had expected such a question would come.
"I have," Rudi answered calmly, without a shred of hesitation. "Every human who has lived long enough has probably done so, Son."
Thomas stared blankly. "How... how did you overcome it? How can you live peacefully with it?"
Rudi smiled faintly, but his eyes looked far away.
"First," said Rudi softly, turning his body slightly to face Thomas more directly. "I had to learn to distinguish between being 'evil' and being 'unaware.' I had to remind myself that often, humans do bad things not simply because their souls are evil. But because they are 'not yet aware' of the full impact of their actions."
Thomas furrowed his brow. His forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I don't understand what you mean, Sir. Wrong is wrong. Evil is evil. Please explain."
Rudi nodded. He thought for a moment, looking for the right analogy.
"Maybe the burden you're carrying right now is too heavy for us to dissect immediately. So, let's take a small example," Rudi invited. "Try to remember, Thomas. Have you ever, as a child, done something you thought was normal, but now as an adult, you realize it was cruel?"
Thomas fell silent for a long time. He dug through his dusty childhood memories.
"Well..." he mumbled after a long pause. "In elementary school, I once caught a sparrow. I... I tied its legs with thick string and just left it on the porch. I thought it was a toy."
Thomas's voice lowered. "The next day... I found it dead. Maybe eaten by a cat or starved to death. At that time, I didn't cry. I didn't care. I just threw it away."
Thomas looked down, gripping his pants. "But now... if I remember that, I feel guilty. I just realized how cruel it is to torture a living being to death like that."
"There," Rudi interrupted softly, his finger tapping the cover of his book. "That is the perfect example."
"When you were little," Rudi continued, slowing his voice to emphasize the important point, "cognitively, you knew you were tying a bird. You knew the facts. But, you were not yet aware emotionally."
"What kind of 'aware' do you mean?"
"The awareness I mean is empathy," Rudi explained. "The ability to truly feel the victim's position. As a child, your inner self hadn't matured enough to feel the bird's fear, the pain of its tied legs, and its despair as the cat approached."
Rudi's eyes looked sharply into Thomas's pupils.
"The horror and guilt you feel now when remembering that bird... that is what's called 'emotional awareness.' Little Thomas wasn't evil, he was just 'asleep.' The current Thomas has 'woken up.'"
That explanation hit Thomas's chest like a massive wave.
He fell silent, letting the words seep into his pores. The concept... felt foreign yet made sense. It was as if a small window had just opened in the dark room of his soul.
"What you explained... I can understand it, but it feels quite difficult," Thomas whispered.
"I know it's not an easy thing to accept, especially if the past mistake involves humans," Rudi added with empathy. "So, don't force yourself to understand it immediately. Take it slow."
Encouraged by a strange sense of safety from this stranger, Thomas's defensive walls slowly crumbled. He felt the need to drain the pus from his wound.
"Back then... I did terrible things to my friends, Sir," Thomas began to recount, his voice trembling to hold back shame. "I bullied them. I belittled them."
Rudi didn't interrupt. He listened attentively.
"I had an elementary school friend named Dimas," Thomas continued, his eyes staring blankly at the ground, imagining Dimas's face. "He was weak... and a bit different. I made him a target so I could be 'seen' and considered cool by the other kids. I hid his shoes, laughed at him, tripped him..."
Thomas's sentence stopped.
On the tip of his tongue, he wanted to say: And I paralyzed him. I broke his spine for a joke.
But the courage wasn't enough yet. That truth was too horrifying, too heavy to admit, even to someone as kind as Mr. Rudi. Thomas swallowed the sentence back with a bitter taste.
"Then in junior high," Thomas shifted the story, "I turned arrogant. I studied like crazy until I was top of the class, but it made me feel higher than everyone else. I looked down on anyone slower than me. If someone asked about an assignment, I would answer: 'You can't even do something this simple? Are you even using your brain?'"
Thomas's breath hitched. Tears began to well up in his eyelids.
"I don't feel like a good person, Sir. I was too mean. I was selfish. I destroyed other people's mental states just so I could feel great."
Rudi looked at the young man breaking down in front of him with a fatherly gaze.
"Your past self," Rudi corrected very gently, "did that because he was 'not yet aware.' He was just a hurt boy, who probably lacked affection, and was desperate for validation in the wrong way."
Rudi leaned forward slightly. "The guilt torturing you now? The pain you feel right now? That is proof that you are 'aware,' Thomas. Monsters don't feel guilty. Only humans with hearts can feel this shattered."
"But this bothers me so much!" Thomas snapped, his frustration spilling over. He grabbed his own hair. "I can't escape! It feels like being chased by a shadow!"
"Have you apologized to them?" asked Rudi.
"I have," Thomas answered weakly. "I... I've apologized to them, but not all of them."
"And? What was their response?"
Thomas laughed bitterly, a laugh that sounded painful. "That's the problem. They forgave me. Even Dimas... he actually defended and protected me."
Thomas's voice cracked at the end of the sentence. "But it doesn't help, Sir! Not at all! I still feel dirty. I understand what you mean about being 'unaware.' But... but I can't forgive myself as easily as they forgave me. I feel like I don't deserve that forgiveness."
Thomas lowered his face again, his shoulders shaking gently.
Silence descended once more. This time it was heavier.
"Well," said Rudi softly, realizing that the wound before him was much deeper than just ordinary teenage delinquency. "It is indeed not easy. You need time."
Rudi adjusted his sitting position, gazing at the afternoon sky which was starting to turn orange.
"Forgiving our imperfect selves is the hardest thing in the world, Thomas," said Rudi, his voice sounding like a murmur to himself. "Accepting forgiveness from others is one thing. Forgiving yourself is another. It is a long journey, not an overnight decision."
Rudi looked at Thomas, who was still drowning in a sea of regret. He knew that no amount of wise words would instantly heal that wound today. Thomas needed space to digest.
"I see you are processing a lot of things," Rudi said gently, breaking the silence a few moments later. "Sometimes, after a conversation this heavy, what we need most is silence to rearrange the 'furniture' inside our heads."
Rudi paused for a moment, ensuring Thomas's condition was stable enough to be left alone.
"I don't mean to leave you while you're distraught," he continued soothingly. "But I'm sure you need time alone to absorb that concept of 'awareness.' Let it settle first."
Rudi glanced at his leather watch. "Besides, my grandchild must be waiting for his grandpa to come home."
The old man stood up slowly. His movements were calm and unhurried. He tucked his book under his armpit.
"Take your time, Son. Don't rush to punish yourself. If there's still something bothering you, or you just want to sit in silence together without talking, you know where to find me every afternoon."
Thomas finally lifted his swollen face. His eyes were red, but his gaze was slightly clearer than when he had arrived.
"Alright, Mr. Rudi," he said softly. "Thank you... thank you so much for willing to listen to trash like me."
Rudi smiled faintly, shaking his head slowly at the word 'trash.' "Be safe on your way. Send my regards to the version of you that is currently fighting."
Without waiting for another answer, Mr. Rudi turned and walked slowly along the park path. His back moved further away, leaving Thomas alone with the afternoon wind, the ripples of the lake, and a seed of new awareness just planted in the barren soil of his heart.