Knjiga moga oca

My father died at the age of forty-nine when I was only five. My father's life has been nothing but a memory ever since. His untimely departure has left a void in my life. I have always felt that there was a space inside me, a building that was meant for someone or something, but it was empty. It was like having a house where no one lives. I was never able to describe that house, its appearance, its purpose. A long time later, when I had already become an adult, I learned that my father had been a victim of a disease called Hodgkin's disease, and I began to build an unfinished house inside me to house people. It is a sin to see an abandoned and ruined house. At first, I did not know how I could build it. Perhaps I did not believe that I was capable or that I was not yet mature enough to write.