And it was precisely under the strong light of each June, on the 13th, that I would receive a magic present: a box of color pencils that I devoured as if they were chocolate bars. I drew with passion, non-stop. But nobody except for my mother ever thought it was important. They saw my ability as something that did not disturb anyone, but it wasn't something to be grateful for. In fact, earning a living was doing something else.
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