At 5, I wanted to own an ice-cream parlour.
At 9, a superhero. And wearing my underwear over my pants seemed like a great idea. I even used to tuck my trouser bottoms into my socks in order to replicate the superhero-boot effect.
At 13, I wanted to shoot people, with a camera.
At 15, I wanted to shoot people. (Raging Hormones)
At 17, since I couldn’t get a camera or a gun, I got depressed. And ice cream has always cheered me up. So my ‘5yearold’ plan suddenly seemed like a nice idea.
At 19, I just wanted to own a bike and leave home. Alone.
At 21, I just wanted to get a job.
At 23, I just wanted to prove that I’m damn good, wanted to make a point.
At 25, now I just want to take my bike, leave for home early one day, alone, when there’s a lot of work, just to make a point.