I was born—and immediately started devouring books. Sounds funny? Trust me, I took it literally. I chewed on them. My dad saw potential (or just panicked), but instead of stopping me, he started reading to me. And that’s when the real obsession began.

I wasn’t the kind of kid who fell asleep to bedtime stories—I was a book tyrant. “One more,” I’d demand. Then another. And another. I was relentless. Eventually, school saved my parents from their nightly storytelling duties—I could finally read on my own.

The library became my temple. Evenings, summers, winters—I was always surrounded by books. I didn’t just read; I wrote. First poems, then short stories. I’d sit in the dentist’s chair, getting my braces tightened, dreaming up new plots to escape the torture. Later, I’d grab a pen and put them on paper.

Books were my friends, my guides, my endless source of inspiration. And now, as a marketer, you’d think I stopped reading and writing? Not a chance. If anything, it fuels me even more—like this very story you’re reading now.