In my childhood, I thought I was a genius.
From the innocent days of early childhood through middle school, high school, and college, I never saw anyone who was better than me.
In fact, the belief that I was a genius didn't come from my own self-awareness. It was because everyone around me said so.
People are creatures that take shape according to how others view them. Even before I matured, when people looked at me, they had astonished expressions and praised me with great enthusiasm, saying there would never be another prodigy like me. As a result, I really became someone like that.
I excelled in my studies compared to my peers, was good at sports, and knew how to live life well. I also knew how to get what I wanted more easily. I could be called a clever kid.
Fortunately, my family had enough wealth to provide a gifted child like me with all the opportunities for specialized education. This allowed me to fully express my talents and potential.
Soon enough, I grew tired of competing with children my own age in the environment I was in. Competing with them was too one-sided, and it wasn't fun anymore.
Around that time, I learned about a prestigious foreign institution for gifted education. Upon hearing about this place where the brightest children were sent, I knew that I belonged there. My parents and those who knew me thought the same. So, at a young age, with high hopes, I left my family behind and embarked on a journey abroad alone.
And as a result, I came to understand reality.
In reality, I was still a genius. I adapted well to my new environment and soon achieved results above average.
But it was just "above average."
In reality, I was a genius, but there, I wasn't a genius. I was merely a smart kid.
My childish arrogance was shattered, and in that place, I learned how to adapt to reality as a so-so genius. It was an incredibly useful experience.
It was only then that I made friends, could have conversations without feeling frustrated, and met people who understood me outside of my family. Looking back, it was the most valuable experience I'd ever had.
Although I wasn't a world-changing genius, I was good enough to be the pride of my family. When I got accepted into a prestigious foreign university at an early age without much difficulty, my brother, who had practically raised me after our father passed away early, was so happy that he shed tears.
I was very close to my brother. He was already an adult when I was still a child. It wasn't just because of our significant age difference. My brother matured early. He was always mature and had a solid sense of judgment. Although he wasn't quick, he made the right decisions. I can't express how much I loved and admired him.
However, my brother had one fatal biological weakness. Unfortunately, it was something we only discovered after he got married — my brother had a body that made it difficult, or rather impossible, to have children.
But my brother and his wife had a strong desire for a child, so they eventually asked for my help. I readily agreed. About a year later, they were able to have kids.
Biologically, the children was mine, but no one thought of it that way. Neither did I, of course. My brother offered to give me one of the children, but I had no intention of accepting. Even now, I don't. Those children were entirely my brother and sister-in-law's.
Yet, once an idea takes root in a person's mind, it doesn't easily change. Even if you think it has, it often lingers unconsciously beneath the surface.
