He was born in a pretty normal place, a place "like the dancing silver linings of a pimiento tree" used to say his dad. His first doubt was born in a foreign land, a land near the end of the world, a land full of pimiento trees.
His dad never taught him the spanish words, "es una lengua de trobadores delirantes", said the old man, always before graving his guitar and singing some rough yet beautiful sounding lyrics. The unimaginable stories of his father came to dance around the porch, their figures made of music where invisible, and yet they seemed gloomy. He used to sit by his father's leg, they would never miss a sunset, the kid would copy his dad's lost look, but he could not copy the sad.
In the middle of the street he found a riddle, "¿Why are there "no-ones" and "some-ones"? When he asked his father for the answer, the old man could not hide his pain, "No te preguntes esas cosas pequeño, que las respuestas ya perdidas están". There he found another mistery, ¿what could have broken his old man?.
In the school he started wondering ¿why do they teach the human questions in economy class?, ¿If today's society is a symbol, then why don't we write it back?, ¿why if life is so important, the instruction manual is so strict and vague?.
He searched a page for every riddle, and finished with no more than half.
When he finally stopped reading, he found himself sitting high above. He had built himself a tower made of books, so tall it's peak would be hidden by the clouds, so tall it would challenge the Olympus, so tall he would be never touched.
In the summit lived the one who was no child anymore, in the end he built a box seat to watch over the world. From Olympus life looked so external, so obvious and so small.
One day he realized he still had a question, but now he did not care for pimiento trees.