I was always fascinated at how life makes fun of men conception of it. One says that life is pain and we are driven by instinct. And is made fun when men live good lives and rise above instinct. Another says that life is supposed to be pleasurable and happy. Only to be crushed by debt and depression.

I saw good men that believe that life was just being crushed.

I also saw evil men believe that life was injust being crushed.

In truth I now believe that life cannot be defined, is chaotic by its own nature, is something unique to each person, is something to be experienced and discuss.

Yet if there was one thing that I can agree on is how strange fate sometimes is. How the fortune wheel takes unexcepted turns and twists. And how men are fooled by it. I was once at the top of it.

I lived day by day, I was a boy who liked hanging out and drinking. I was someone who if asked what meaning they gave to live they would respond "This drink is very good." I was the worst type of superficial person, those who believe themself illuminated and deep.

A would-be intellectual who wasn't one and lacked the deep of vision of it. But neither an adventurer, someone who life live to the fullest. I was neither of those I was just pathetic.

My father worked at an important bank so I never did have to worry about money or working or anything like that. I could pass my days talking about how cruel and unfair life was while eating a precious meal every day. How simply existing was a pain while passing most of my day in a comfortable bed with my phone.

One day while in a bookshop buying books that I didn't care about on things that didn't interest me, I saw her. An angel fell from heaven. A muse took form. A goddess!

I became a boy in a bookshop pretending to look at books, what I really did there was looking at her. There was something in her, something that no girl that I have met before had. He was special, I could feel it, she was in every my though, we were made for each other... if only I managed to ask her for a date... if only I had such courage...

Looking backwards now I see how much I was blind, I don't mean the blindness that comes from love, I still think that love high is a good thing, I mean the blindness that comes from not knowing oneself and one situation. But I am getting ahead of myself now I will let the event speak for themself now.

Looking at one book I was strike by its very inspired dedication. It was dedicated to the writer girlfriend. A realization hit me, I could write something describing my love or an allegory for it. Like The White Nights of Doyoesty. No, no, wrong example. Like Werter of Goethe. NO, just no. Like Shakespear Juliet and Romeo God lord why all books that I read finish so badly?!?

Once returned to home I began writing. And buying some positive books on love. I planned to finish the book after a week, it would be a short story about a seemingly mediocre guy, but in reality amazing, falling in love with this girl.

But I would do it in a unique way. It would be so amazing that even if you read a hundred of this type of novels you would be blown out by its share quality, passion and spirit! I had the spirit to do it! I had the ability! It was amazing in my mind.

In my mind...

This is what happens when you remain too long in your comfort zone talking about ideas. You think that you can do things which you can't. At that time I never worked a day of my life.

After a week of writing, I didn't even finish the first draft "If only I was a better writer" I thought to myself "I could render those emotions better. My love, my passion for her. If only I knew how to symbolize those feelings..." But I didn't lose hope. I would still win her.

I think that only a few have understood what type of love that was. It was an idealized love. A love that still floats in the realm of perfect ideas untouched by the world. An illusion, an impossible love. Yet a love that may devour the heart for years...

The first draf- I mean the complete novel was almost done when something happened.

One day my dad turned back from home, he was in a horrible mud. He lost his usual cool look. His clothes were in disarray and a bit dirty. Very strange for him.

Stolen novel; please report.

He told us to come together at the table and listen to him. He improvises half a discourse about virtue, which I never heard him talk about it before, and ideals, which I thought was a synonym for money. A really long discourse, a bit raw at times and confusing but a good discourse about being united and strong.

Later that day I saw my mom cry in a corner like a beaten dog.

"Mom, why are you crying?" I asked

"You haven't understood, have you! You have never understood! Your stupid pig! Your dad has lost his job! We are broke!"

In that discourse full of things my dad had managed to hide behind other things the one thing that mattered. My dad lost his job. We were going full red now. We had to cut every single expense that wasn't necessary starting from today. We had to sell many things. We had to adapt.

From that day onwards I vowed to always give news, especially bad ones, in a plain and simple way.

I felt miserable. No more internet extensive binging, no more Netflix, no more tv. Life for me had become boring and without stimuli. The only thing that kept me motivated was her... that angel. What I was without her? She completed me, she was my centre. My source of happiness.

She rejected me. She said that the book was fine but needed polishing. She rejected my love. Damn, I should have named the female character after her! Who was her surname again?

When you live for so long in comfort and luxurious and all the sudden are thrown into poverty you feel like you fell from the Eden.

You feel a bit like Buck from the Call of The wild, you first lived with the judge, happy and peaceful, and all the sudden the evil servant, my dad job firing, takes you into a brutal and primitive world, the world of poverty and struggle, and at once you understand you weak you were. How much had your instincts gone feeble. And you realize how much civilization has made you weak. How much of yourself had you lost.

No more staying in bed all day, you have to work, no more going out hanging and drinking, no more TV until midnight, no more binging, time tables to respect, bosses, to please, structures to keep clean, things to learn. Free time all the sudden seems gone. In a word live becomes slow and unpleasurable.

I felt those things but did I became stronger? A wolf among wolfs? Hell no. I became even worse.

If before I was a nice and happy young boy, if only with bad marks and a bit overweight. Now I was flat out miserable, the "happiness" if we wanna call it by that name, was gone. My weigh problem worsens. A lot.

I wish I could tell you more, but I would lie. Nothing noteworthy happened for the next few months.

That is until life didn't have a laugh at me.

One day I came to that bookshop and didn't see my love. Where was she? I asked one of the workers "Ah... so you don't know, Emily is dead... hit by a drunken driver, she is a better place now, I hope..."

No, it couldn't be! The centre of my being!

Only once at the funeral, I realize how little I knew her. Family and friends spoke of all sort of problems and rough edges. From shouting at her parent and arriving late at work to drinking too much and being a straight out narcissist and hypocrite.

I turn back home from the funeral. I was devasted, who was I? No me and her, who was me? I looked at the mirror and I see the image of a man, a certain Carl. A fat and sad man, that couldn't live for something greater than himself. Before I lived for pleasure then for love. When I will begin to live for something outside of myself, serving something greater, something higher?

I grabbed that draft and rewrite the whole thing. From characters, plot, love. Everything. It was a concise and clean book? Hell no! It was raw as hell and I suspect that they were a few(dozens)typos. But it was a liberating experience something that I had to do.

I wanted to share my life experience and warn others to not be fooled by pleasure or love.