Dawn of Fun

Somewhere along the Mediterranean Sea, near the beach, a little boy was playing with a few close childhood friends. I grew up surrounded by a large, close-knit family—loving parents, several siblings, and wonderful relatives living right next door with their own children. Our neighborhood felt like one connected home, and I could walk into any house on the street as if it were my own.

It was a peaceful life centered around pure play. A couple of years later, life expanded. Beyond our street lay several more, and our circle of friends grew to over twenty kids in that small community. Between the beach, a large football field, and a grand local place of worship with a garden, we played day and night. Days were reserved for football and the sea, evenings for custom hide-and-seek games we invented, and late nights—yes, late nights for six-year-olds—for chit-chat. Naturally, our favorite post-midnight topics were ghost stories. Life was filled with nothing but fun.

Back home, I formed unique bonds with each of my siblings: one helped me with school, another was my go-to for support or pocket money, and then there was my oldest sister. Ten years older than me, she was watching a great deal of world cinema. She was my goddess of films.

The Spark

One day, when I was in the fourth grade, my sister—my ultimate movie icon at the time—told me to come home early that evening because a special movie was on. I agreed and ran off to play. I got so caught up in the fun that I completely forgot about the film, but I eventually sprinted back home because I desperately needed to use the bathroom.

The moment I stepped toward the toilet, my eyes caught the television screen. It was pitch black, accompanied by mysterious music. My sister was sitting on the floor, mesmerized. I still needed to pee, but the screen stayed black for what felt like an eternity. Suddenly, the slender crescent of a dark moon began to sink toward the thin curvature of the Earth, and the sun slowly crested behind it. with a music unlike anything I had ever heard.

Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, I stood frozen. The scene shifted to creatures that looked like apes, playing, fighting, and eventually clustering around a mysterious black monolith. I was just as curious as they were. Soon, the story shifted to spaceships, astronauts, a sentient robot, and a journey toward Jupiter.

I didn't understand any of it. Neither did my sister. Every time I asked a question, she just smiled and admitted she didn't know. It turned out to be a great early lesson:

you don't always need immediate answers, but you should never stop asking questions. Sometimes, a good question is the answer itself.

The movie ended. I had held in my urge to pee for hours and gained no clear answers, but a spark was ignited that would shape the rest of my life. I never stopped playing, but a whole new world opened up for me. Classical music, stargazing, and science joined my list of passions. Most importantly, I realized there was a world far larger than my house, the neighborhood, the sea, the garden, and the football field.

That spark inspired a childhood dream: to become a scientist and build a camera coded to connect to the brain, restoring sight to damaged eyes. Years passed, and I eventually went to university to learn how to code—not for the human brain yet, but for computers!

Years later, while having dinner with my sister and her children, I asked her if she remembered when we watched that movie together—the apes, the journey to Jupiter.

She smiled and confessed she couldn't recall it at all.

But her teenage son chimed in: "Uncle, I remember when you told us that story about Jupiter being made of gas instead of solid land!"

I was amazed that a story I shared when he was just six years old had stayed with him for a decade. Stories truly never die.

The Path

After graduation, the fun didn't stop—it simply evolved. I relocated abroad to chase my dreams, continuing the fun into the next chapter of my life's odyssey.