As a child, and later as a young adult, I was fascinated by the ability of my brothers and sisters to do certain things without any effort. My brother Francisco has the ability to learn languages only reading and listening to music, my other brother, Enrique, has an innate talent for drawing. My sister Thamara, she really knows how to dance. My brothers Julio and Cesar, and my Sister Taira, they also have well-defined skills. Julio was excellent in sports. Cesar is a storytelling and Taira was a musician. My parents knew their skills and always supported and encouraged them to develop those skills, but none of my brothers or sisters was interested. I could not understand how, having that ease and skills in the things that I have always loved, they were not interested in practicing or studying to improve them.
I wanted to draw, act, sing, dance, practice sports and learn new languages. I tried playing sports, playing guitar, drawing, but I never excelled in any of those fields. But neither did I surrender. I kept trying and trying. I grew up wondering what was good for. What was my gift in life?
My father knew something that I did not know at the time. He bought me many books. Books of all kinds: I lived many adventures, hung with heroes and conquerors, traveled the world and fantasized about strange creatures and talking animals. I read and I continued reading and I lived through those characters.
After high school I was still trying to find out what my special skill was. I wondered why, like my brothers and many other people I knwe at the time, I did not have an unique ability.
At nineteen, I started working in a government office. A repetitive, boring job that did not need any intellectual effort. Every day it was a struggle to go to the office since I did not want to go. I had to be there for 8 hours, most of the time I did not do anything, so I started reading during my shift. I started with the Latin-American authors: Cortaza, Garcia Marquez, Romulo Gallegos, Juan Rulfo, Vargas Llosa, Octavio Paz, Isabel Allende, Asturias, etc. Then I discovered Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Patrick Suskind, Milka Waltari, and many more. Then I met Michael Ende and The Nerverending Story, that was something I wasn't expecting. That boy also like to read.
One day, like any other day, I arrived late for work due to the rain. I was all wet and so angry that I decided to resign. I told myself that life should be something else; not being 8 hours in an office without doing anything. The moment I left the office I noticed that there was a new book on my desk. I remember the title, A Doll's House, by Henrik Ibsen. After relaxing, I took the book from the desk. He looked and felt different. I opened and noticed that the structure of the book was not like other books. He had names, dialogues and descriptions. I started reading and I could not stop. Nora caught my interest.
It was as if the characters were talking to me, they wanted me to understand their reasons. I was silent witness to a story that developed page by page. I could see clearly where they were, what they were wearing, their faces, everything. I fell in love with Nora eating macaroons, hiding them to avoid Torvald's scolding. I felt sympathy for Mrs. Linde; sacrificed his youth to take care of his mother. I understood Krogstad demands and overall I admired and was moved by Nora’s decision to leave her husband. I understood her motives clearly. That morning I quick my job and I went to the theater school, and my life change for ever. My father knew, years ago, what was my skill and he feed it without me knowing it. That is me, I read.