Chapter 8:becoming someone new

For the next few days, Julian kept replaying Mr. Kellan’s words in his head. At first, he thought the chicken and dinosaur lesson was just a weird metaphor. But slowly, as he sat alone in his room after another long day of insults and silent suffering, something clicked. The “chicken” wasn’t about strength or size — it was about belief. If he believed he was worthless, he would stay worthless. If he believed he was unlovable, he would act unlovable. It wasn’t magic. It was mindset.

He remembered waking up most mornings and staring at himself in the mirror with disgust, saying things like “I’m nothing” or “No one wants me.” He didn’t even realize how deeply those words were shaping him. Every insult from his parents, every shove from classmates, every cold look from teachers — he had swallowed them all and made them truths inside his own chest. He was living like a bird that never learned it had wings.

But that night, something inside him whispered differently. Not loudly. Just a small, trembling thought: What if I’m not the garbage they say I am? What if I could change myself, even a little? The idea felt scary, almost forbidden, as if he wasn’t allowed to imagine a better version of himself. But he held onto it anyway.

The next morning, Julian tried something he had never done before — he brushed his hair slowly, like he was someone who mattered. He put on clean clothes with intention, not just routine. He stood a little taller in the mirror. It wasn’t much. It didn’t erase his pain. But for the first time, he didn’t look away in shame. He stayed. He met his own eyes.

Later at school, when someone called him “pathetic,” the old Julian would’ve folded into himself like paper. But this time he paused. He took a breath. And even though the insult still hurt, he told himself silently, That’s their voice. Not mine. It didn’t make him fearless, but it made him aware — aware of how he’d been letting others define what he believed about himself.

At lunch, he didn’t sit in his usual hiding corner. He still sat alone, but he chose a table by the window, where sunlight reached him. He ate slowly instead of rushing through his food as if he didn’t deserve time. Other students looked at him, surprised by this small act of confidence. Some whispered. But Julian didn’t shrink. For the first time, he didn’t feel like a ghost wandering the halls.

After school, he walked to the library again. Mr. Kellan was sweeping, and when he saw Julian approach with calmer eyes than usual, he smiled. “I see you’re starting to get it,” he said softly. Julian didn’t know how the man always sensed things, but he nodded. “I think… I think the chicken is how I’ve been treating myself,” Julian said. “I’ve been believing I’m just this loser who deserves nothing.”

Mr. Kellan rested both hands on the broom handle. “And what happens when a boy believes he’s worth care?” he asked. Julian hesitated, then answered, “He starts acting like it.” The old man nodded. “Exactly. Taking care of yourself isn’t vanity. It’s survival. You don’t become a dinosaur by force. You become one by believing you’re allowed to grow.”

That night, Julian sat with his notebook again. He wrote down every lie he had believed about himself — I’m useless. I’m unlovable. I’m stupid. I don’t matter. — then crossed each one out with thick black strokes. Underneath them, he wrote new beginnings: I’m learning. I’m growing. I deserve care. I deserve peace. The words felt strange, almost too gentle for someone like him, but they warmed him more than he expected.

Before going to bed, Julian realized something important — changing his life wouldn’t happen in a single moment. But the shift had already started the moment he questioned the beliefs that had chained him down. That was the first spark. And even though the world around him hadn’t changed at all, Julian had. And that small change was enough to set everything else in motion.