I don't know who I really am, but I was named Karl on my first day, so you can define me that way; I guess this is where I welcome you to the story of my life.

A happy, talkative, kind, loving and quite adventurous child, that's the little boy I was. If you came across me on the street, at first sight you'd say nothing but good things about me.

Growing up in a family of five - two parents and two older sisters - I had to face up to the rebellious nature of my eldest son at an early age, which clashed with my parents' harsh upbringing.

Scenes of shouting, violence and blows became a daily occurrence, an echo in the muffled family melody.

This boy needed a source of distraction, something he could take refuge in.

One school day, he and his class went to his town's public library, and there he contemplated with wonder, first in the comics and then in every book he read, worlds, tales, wonderful stories, of people who had found meaning in their lives, who were accomplishing or trying to accomplish every day, a task, a destiny that would have an impact on their world.

So every day, he returns to this library, this mine of dreams, and borrows as many books as he can and immerses himself in them.

For the first time, he hears nothing, nothing but his imagination, which in a harmonious ballet with his emotions, form a dance that fills him with that something.

That thing he can't quite put his finger on, but it's the thing that makes time go by faster, that makes him forget that the world around him is passing by, that animates his little childlike heart with a will, with powerful feelings, that, miraculously I think, gives him the strength to face everyday family life with courage.

As he turns to the last page of his book, he gently closes it with a sigh, his heart clenches and sadness grips his mind. Every ending gives him that nostalgic feeling that never really goes away, as if a little piece of him disappears with the end of the story.

Then the quiet of the book disappears, and the deafening noise returns, suffocating him in a vice that grips him and anguishes him. His hands tremble softly, and small luminous beads appear at the end of his little eyes. 

Powerless to do anything, he raises his head and looks out of his bedroom window at the sky.

That blue sky, so high, so beautiful, so inaccessible. Up there, where the birds roam, free of earthly constraints, up there, where the clouds, free of all problems, sadly return their gaze to the boy contemplating them.

The days go by, indifferent, this little boy grows up, first in every competition in his sport, he starts to dream. 

Maybe he too, like in his books, is the main character. Maybe in his case, he's not going to save the world, but become the greatest champion in his discipline, bringing glory to his country, defeating each and every one of his opponents through sheer technique and sheer effort.

So he trains hard, making his club proud at his young age, but despite all his successes, he's always compared to his elder, who, long before him, did better and is on the way to becoming the champion he had wanted to be.

So the pressure mounts, he wants to do better, he doesn't want to be his sister's brother, he wants to be him, so they can say his first name and recognize him as Karl.

So he goes on, becomes first in his region in his age category and finally qualifies for a national competition. 

At last, greatness is within his grasp. If he wins this competition, the road to his dream will be paved.

He'll be accepted into a high-level structure, training every day to become better and better, beating ever stronger opponents and standing proudly at the top.

Karl is thirteen years old, a week before the deadline, he's training on a Tuesday evening as usual and during the session, he's told to be the partner of a girl taller than him, who only comes once or twice a month.

He accepts, and during the exercise, she performs it very awkwardly, and the young boy pays the price.

A pain shot through his right foot, and he tried to get up, but to no avail.

His teacher comes over to examine the situation and feels his foot for any injuries.

Karl flinches at the slightest touch.

"It's a fracture, Karl, I'm sorry.

The boy's mind short-circuited, he'd trained so hard, fought so hard, dreamed so big all this time.

And now, one week away from the springboard of his life, he broke his foot, condemning all his dreams in the process.

And for the others around him, for what seemed like a few seconds to them, was an eternity for him, an eternity in which something inside him shattered, something he'd miss in the future, a strength he'd never find again...

He held back the anger and hatred he felt and avoided his teacher's gaze.

"It's not a big deal, these things just happen," he said in a hushed voice.

A childhood of parental repression prevented him from expressing what he really felt, keeping inside him feelings that shouldn't be repressed.

His father came later and, when he heard the news, said nothing, but the look on his face - oh, Karl would never forget that look - was one of disappointment, imperceptible to others but obvious to him.

That look broke the last barrier and nothing has been the same since.

Karl rose from his failure and trained harder every day, entering the top-level structure he'd been aiming for since he was young, yet when he received the acceptance letter, there was no longer that taste of victory, that taste of satisfaction.

He knew he'd only been accepted because he was his sister's brother, not because of his achievements. 

The young teenager was going to show them, to prove them. 

But nothing went according to plan: he got injured regularly, couldn't keep up, his grades dropped drastically and he didn't know which way to turn.

Just when he thought he was at his lowest ebb, a piece of news came along that knocked him lower than the ground. His grandmother, so far absent from the story, and yet she was and will be the person he loved most on this Earth.

Loving, caring, always there for him in good times and bad. This grandmother, the very reason why his heart still feels something, this grandmother is in hospital, suffering from cancer with no possible cure.

Admitted in an emergency after a relapse. She had hidden her cancer from Karl for the whole month of December, to spend one last joyous Christmas with him.

It was on that day that everything really fell apart, he went to see her every day, he saw her wasting away, losing weight, becoming a shadow of her former self, and yet despite her condition, she was still there, smiling at him and telling him not to worry, that everything would be all right.

It was on that day that he first lost the strength to smile.

And when his grandfather told him the next day that she had passed away during the night, he left. Without saying a word to anyone, without expressing even an ounce of emotion, he went back to the boarding school where he had been living since his acceptance into the structure for high-level athletes, and sat down in his room.

Karl remained there, in that position, neither moving nor speaking, his eyes blank, for a time he had lost all notion of.

He didn't go to her funeral, knowing that if he saw her inert body, once so alive, something unforgivable would happen. 

And it was only a few months later, on a rather warm August night, a night when the sky was clear of clouds and the stars were shining brightly, it was precisely on this night that grief broke out.

He wept for a long time, his cheeks irritated by the constant moisture his tears were soaking up, and his eyes turned so red you'd have thought he was bleeding.

That night, while he stifled those tears so as not to alert his parents or anyone else, he lost his raison d'être.

You only realize the value of something when you've lost it, you regret not having cherished the moments you spent with that person enough, you blame yourself for not having made the most of them, and now she was gone, gone forever, somewhere far, far away from you.

Without you, Grandma, the world doesn't have the same flavor...