My school life started out pretty ordinary. I wasn’t one of those straight-A students, and honestly, I didn’t mind. I found my escape in storybooks and comics, flipping through pages while lessons drifted past me like background noise. I was a dreamer, lost in imaginary worlds, never quite grounded in the present.

But everything changed in 2005. That year, I lost my father—and with him, a part of my childhood. In an instant, the world became heavier. As the eldest son, I had to grow up overnight. Responsibilities I never asked for suddenly became mine to carry. I was still just a kid, but there was no time for grief or confusion. My family needed me, and that was all that mattered.

So I pushed myself. I studied harder, not because I wanted grades, but because I needed a way out—for all of us. Still, I knew that academic success alone wouldn’t be enough. There was a fire in me, a need to think beyond textbooks and classrooms. I started chasing ideas, exploring new paths, and looking for creative ways to grow. I wasn’t just trying to survive anymore—I was trying to build something better.