“Those who forgot the past, are condemned to repeat it” My past is no exception from any. Comforting because it’s gone, constantly filled with mistakes only present is aware of, and bittersweet. I refuse to call my childhood my golden age. It never was. Whenever my memory takes me there, I feel empty. All I see are features time has roughened up and small interrupted pieces from a chain , yet none completes the other. I watched Peter pan, and that day I guess, I started living. That cartoon has brought to my existence the essential ingredients to live : dreaming and hoping, wanting and needing. I dreamed Peter pan is going to come up to my window and help me fly around. I hoped Peter pan is going to come up to my window and help fly around. I wanted peter pan to come up to my window and help me fly around. But mainly, I needed peter pan to come up to my window and help me fly around when things got ugly. I was a dreamer. Many of you relate a dreamer child to one cliché-tic sentence “When I grow up, I want to be :insert a mainstream job:” Allow me to correct and say, that stands for being an ambitious child, and an ambitious child can’t exist. That cliché-tic sentence is nothing but the injection of adults, since I can’t see why a nine-year-old child would want to be a doctor or an engineer when his grasp barely swallows their meanings, when he has all paths of imagination instead. Ever since I was little, I wanted everything and nothing. Each day had its colour, Monday was white only because it followed Sunday, my cursed bloody red day. Tuesday was blue and empty, Wednesday was yellow and cheerful, Thursday was dark-blue and long, and Friday was colorless. Each day had its dreams and its adventures. I wanted to taste everything, touch everything and become everything. And even if that grew up to make of me this unstable person, I am grateful I had that as a child. The rest of my childhood, was empty. I was thrown in mazes of must-be the first in class, and that pretty much absorbed all my essentials to live. I was absent in all my supposed to be filled child’s mistakes (but constantly present in my adult’s). I was selfish and unkind. Worst of all, I was typical.