Why do I like reading?
I really can't explain when all this started. Maybe it was my father, reading every time I could spot him. Maybe it was his books and magazines all over the house. Maybe it is printed on my genes since forever, and you can't change that, do you?
The point is, since I can read, it is a non-stop story. I've looked for books everywhere I've been, I've driven my father insane by asking him to buy them for me, I've spend my salary when I know there are things more important to purchase, as my mother would say.
Even my father, ¡even him!, told me once books where imprescindible stuff, in a period when my family went through a money crisis. I couldn't believe my ears, and doubted seriously of him being relatives with me.
Jokes apart, I know I won't stop reading unless I get blind. That is the most horrid tought I've ever had. Reading is an habit, my way of comunicating with other people -authors, characters I know so well- and myself. Yeah, I've had the most interesting dialogues during a book trip, and that self-discovering has been wonderful for my confidence and for finding what I want from life and what I want to give to life.
It still hurts when my mother tells me off when she saws me in my bed, absorbed in yet another piece of work. “Useless crap”, she says. “How little you know me”, I muse. Wonder if it'll be worthy writing my musings down.
Cotinuing: I've got a sore throat, and this morning Mother Nature passed her bill. And Dad put chocolate on my bag. Ow.

And more ow.