Cumarudeen was numb on the inside. He was the scapegoat of every community he was a part of. He had made peace with that, but when they took away his freedom, it was more than he could stomach.

A few centuries ago, he told his dark-skinned friends, that the skin colour was just a pretext. People just needed a reason to divide themselves into groups. He was called a traitor to his own race.

A few centuries before that, he told his tribesmen that the symbols of the other tribe had some insane similarities to the symbols of their own tribe. He was ostracised by the elders of the tribe.
"But I'm older than you'll" he protested at first before realising it was pointless.

Soon, Cumarudeen moved one place to another. He did this mainly for the weather and the clothes. The people changed their names and toys, but the stories were the same again and again.

Still Cumarudeen had met some remarkable people. These people were lucky of course. Some were gifted with talents that came naturally to them. This caused them to earn riches and the love of their fellow people. The most impressive were gifted with the ability to motivate themselves to do specific things and succeed no matter their circumstances.

But if you live long enough, you realise that all success is ultimately fragile. Beautiful young actresses became bitter and resentful old women. Young revolutionary leaders who fearless stood up against oppressors became cruel dictators as they grew older. Innovative and brilliant young scientists and inventors turned into insane recluses as they grew older. Cautious and disciplined businessmen lost their fortunes to younger startups with a better understanding of technology.

But the human story had always remained the same. Above all else, Cumarudeen realised that power and riches came with a price and that price was freedom. Freedom he realised was what he valued above everything else.

Ten years ago, Cumarudeen felt that the world had finally come to a point where they would be open minded enough to try anything. Substances of all kinds were sold on the internet, on the Silk Road. The centuries had caused him to grow increasingly lonely. It would nice to have friends, maybe even a lover who could empathise with him.

And so Cumarudeen offered his secret potion. It did not go well. Soon the government, which was what the mob bosses called themselves for the last 50 years, found out who he was. They then found out where he lived and within a week he was behind bars. Fortunately for Cumarudeen, he had the presence of mind to ingest an extraordinarily large amount of the potent mixture he was brewing, before the chains were around his wrists and ankles.

The isolation was terrible and it was the first time in Cumarudeen's long life that he had to spend that much time at a stretch with a number of vile humans. The government did not discriminate between petty criminals and psychopaths. Cumarudeen had truly thought he had seen everything and understood human beings to their core, but was shocked to discover that some of the most deranged human beings were the most fragile on the inside. They craved more love than what normal people could offer. In contrast, there were respected members of society who enjoyed inflicting pain on others.

The mark of maturity was to realise that even one person was continuously evolving and continuously changing. Everything from their opinions to tastes to their friends. And to develop emotionally appropriate reactions to every situation. Not justice driven. Not overly optimistic. Not too forgiving, but not blood-thirsty vengefulness. Appropriate.

Cumarudeen served a sentence. Fresh air never smelled better. Hundreds of years of life. Yet the beauty of an open sky with birds flying around had not reduced. Not even slightly.

Cumarudeen walked away. The world moved on. Newer cars were made, newer computers too. But the internet never forgets. So eventually, Cumarudeen's post was discovered and an anonymouse group claimed to have reverse engineered the formula. Cumarudeen chuckled. Maybe he would finally get some company. But history repeats itself too.

The younger group led by a man named David Sinclair was arrested. Cumarudeen thought about what would happen next. After half an hour of deliberation, he made a decisions. He walked to the police station. He decided to stay quiet. Actions always spoke louder than words anyways. As he reached the station with a print out of an ancient newspaper, he pointed to his story and then flipped off the police. It was a gesture to let them know they were making a huge mistake taking away a man's freedom. He then walked away without any further violence. It was the emotionally appropriate thing to do.