Learning process.

I was a little kid and my home was full of books. And encouragement. I started to read. A lot. I became familiar with words. I understood how they could function together. I started to have feelings for those I read from. Love. Hate. Fear. Yeah, that. Fear. I realized how powerful they were. How they could change me, prove me wrong, make me think. I realized they had an effect on people. I wanted to be like them. I wanted to be mighty.

At the same time, my father took me to see fights every Saturday night. The majority of them were middleweight fights. Your next-door neighbor. Regular men. I remember their faces. I remember their breath. Their sweat and blood flying in the air. I remember the sound of fists against their ribs, their jaws, their noses, their stomachs and their heads. I learned about pain, failure and willpower. I learned that victory and defeat always happen at the same time.

One day, I found out I could write.