When I was a kid I wanted to become a writer. As a matter of fact I used to write my stories since I was about 11. By that time I spent most of the time with my sister and my mother would usually be back from work quite late at night.

I used to write on a notebook but I would also use any available blank paper since at some times I would come up with an idea that I would forget about if I didn't take note of them.

For some unknown reason, one day when she was cleaning, my mother discarded a bunch of papers on which I had written a story about some magical cats (I{me very fond of cats).

When I asked about them, she said she thought I would no longer use them, so she threw them away. "You can write them again", she said.

I tried but in the end I always had this feeling that would draw me from trying to start any other story and in the end I decided not to write any more.

I think that parents tend to unconsciously try to fulfill their own dreams and gain value through their children, which in the may continue with a continous cycle unless you become aware of such pattern.

Regardless of it, I now believe that as long as you are alive, you can always pursue your dreams.