CHAPTER 8.
It was a good day to start my new life. The sun was shining brightly, when I opened my bedroom window I realized that I was no longer a student, so many years with that on my shoulders, it was like a weight. I had wanted this day to come many times, the end of my course, so I would stop hearing:
“And you Manu, what are you? What do you do?” A neighbor or an acquaintance of my parents would always ask me.
“I’m a student,” I would answer quietly as if I were ashamed.
“Still?” they would ask.
“He’s still young,” my father would defend me, justifying my response.
His friend, with whom we were talking on one particular occasion, smiled. My father already knew what he thought, because we had been over it many times.
“He seems older to me,” said that person, looking me up and do
