The Child Who Lived a Thousand Years

JINGYIMAMA™ · A Fable for the Soul

This story is a work of fiction and is not based on real persons.

There was once a child who lived for a thousand years. Not because he was magical, but because he never grew.

When something went wrong, he always said:

“It wasn’t me.” “It’s because of them.” “It’s not my fault.”

And so, the world never asked him to change. No lesson entered his heart. No season opened inside him.

He remained untouched, unquestioned, unchanged.

And time, unable to guide him forward, left him where he was.

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The child watched flowers bloom and fall. He watched people love and part. He watched as whole generations rose and left the world behind.

Yet he—he stayed exactly the same.

A child. Forever.

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The turning point comes later. The moment when he finally says, “This part is mine.”

Author’s Reflection

This is not a story about age. It is a story about responsibility.

Only when we claim our own part of the pain, do we also claim our power to grow.

Growth is not the result of time. It is the result of owning our choices.

A person can live many years and remain a child. A person can make one real choice—and finally begin to live.

Sometimes, adulthood begins with one quiet sentence:

“This is mine.”