If my life were to be made into a film, the opening track would definitely be Blink-182’s “Everytime I Look for You.”
The scene would kick off with a classic line: “See that boy with headphones, glasses, and a skateboard? That’s me.”
The camera would then move to a girl. But, unlike typical tales, I wouldn’t win her over—good or bad.
That’s how my story would begin.
The flashback would reveal that my dream of being a writer started much earlier. I was a true bookworm, escaping to stories while avoiding a playground where I often felt trapped.
Surrounded by books, superhero films, and a nagging question—”If they can write stories, why can’t I?”—I often tagged along with my father, a driver, and my mother, a healthcare assistant, to their jobs.
These experiences opened my eyes to various worlds. While other kids let time pass, I observed conversations, silences, farewells, and reunions, all full of emotions I barely grasped. I realised every person carries their own narrative, which perhaps sparked my obsession with storytelling.
I began writing superhero adventures for my childhood friends, hoping to make us all feel less out of place. But gradually, that dream faded. Poor grades and spelling struggles led me to believe that I couldn’t be a writer. I turned to another passion: English.
I dove into my studies and enrolled in English Philology at La Laguna, a city that would significantly impact my life. However, it didn’t go as planned. I eventually dropped out, floundering without direction.
I penned my first article, though I had started as a poet at 19. Influencers like Ismael Lozano and Pablo Martín supported me when I couldn’t see my potential. I discovered my true passion: researching and telling stories.
No longer scared to share my work, I began to dream of writing in earnest. While other kids aspired to be footballers or astronauts, I yearned to tell stories. When I stopped believing I could create them, I discovered that I could find them.
There were setbacks, fears, tears, and a struggle to understand myself. I once thought I was odd—too curious and unable to leave a story unfinished. For years, I saw those traits as flaws; now, I recognise them as simply my perspective on the world.
Here I am at 24, still listening to Quevedo, Bad Bunny, and Blink-182. Like many, I’ve been told I wouldn’t amount to anything and often felt behind others. Yet, I persist—not from bravery but from an inner drive that refuses to give up.
That spark led me to write superhero stories as a child, publish my first poems and articles at 19, and delve into forgotten lives. I wrote a book, wondering if anyone would read it.
I’ve never been the best student, nor the most popular, but I’ve been a boy with a laptop determined to tell stories. While I may still seek answers, I’ve learned that I don’t need to be perfect to chase my dreams. I just need to live a story worth telling, and fortunately, mine is still unfolding.
Today, I don’t want to celebrate an ideal life, but rather the mistakes, falls, changes, and dreams that endured against the odds, and everyone who helped me reach this point.
If the camera returned to the present, you’d likely see the same boy, perhaps spending less time on his skateboard. Life has shifted me in ways I didn’t anticipate as a child. Ultimately, the story wasn’t about winning the girl; it was about finding my place within it.
The final scene would be simple: a sunset, my skateboard at the side, the sound of the sea, and me reflecting on all those who helped me. Gazing into the horizon, I’d think of that boy who wrote superhero tales for his friends, and I’d smile.
After all this time, I’m still him—just 24 now, with a laptop full of projects and many more stories to tell. Thankfully, the film hasn’t finished yet.
