I remember that it was during the summer of one of my college years when a woman laughed, hysterically, at me, while I sang and played guitar. She said, “How can you, not, know how terrible you sound?"
A few days passed when my father said, "What's going on? You haven't been playing guitar, lately. I miss hearing you.” He then said, "Look, you’re happier when you play, and you know if you stick at it…”
I said, "It's your fault. It's your fault for telling me that I'm good at something ...