This is what the short CV says. Precise, yet vague.

It is precise because it shows the photo with the 200-pound catfish that once was caught. That photo that should be proudly displayed on any wall. Something to be praised. But it’s vague, because all the other photos in the life of a fisherman are omitted: all the trouts, the small sardines, and, of course, all the times the fisherman came back empty-handed.

Every CV celebrates the big catch. It only shows victories. The battles are left out. After all, they’re not the reason CVs exist. There are autobiographies for that

For that same reason, I was always more interested in learning about battles than victories. After all, victory may allows envy; but the battle always brings admiration. And, so, I've always had more fun in finding out how someone got to the point where they are than in the final line itself.

This is why my heroes were never the “supermen,” but the great humans of mankind: those who were arrested 29 times because they had a dream, the sick who died in their bathroom singing Jacobine praises, the scientists which no sclerosis will prevented him from studying, the alchemists of light who create fantastic worlds. Those. The real ones. More than any glorious figure, wearing a cape, from Stan Lee’s world. It doesn’t work for me. I always preferred this other, real thing, this reality so invariable and imperfect.

Think about it! The world is on the brink of chaos and you’re just there with Harvard on your CV. "Surely handed to you on a beautiful golden plate", people might think. It’s almost lyrical. "I’m sure it’s on her Facebook cover page". But, no. It was not.

However, the great pride I had about putting Harvard in bold letters on my CV was not as big as my desire to talk about all the obstacles I had to overcome in my way. Modest victories which found no applause. In the end, I think they’re more important than any kind of fame. So don’t be deceived by a few well-written lines and a sweet picture. This person is strong and the battles were long. They extend far beyond the victory on display. Trust me: the cliff may be hidden, but lots of people fell from it. I know I did.

And I don’t cover up my battles: I played every role in my path. I am the saviour, the aggressor, and the victim. They’re all in me. Each of us should cultivate the part we desire. And that, my friend, is your responsibility, as well as a blond young man used to say. 

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My victim exists. She’s always there: at the beggining of every career without any connections. And, when she entered my battle, she came in strong, wronged, tired, in pain. My victim is not a helpless child or a poor old shaman. She’s the warrior, the first in line in the battalion. Not the general, nor the leader in the rear. I even doubt she ranks higher than a soldier. She’s the one who worked for free, who heard “no,” without support or help. The one who only had the chance to learn by being slapped in the face. The one who was betrayed. Who spoke when it was not her turn. Who had her good intentions, viewed as opportunism. Who fought dark nights. Who accepted inconvenient throat aches. Who was harassed, and had to hear unfair things, lies, falsehoods. Yes... This part is filled with many “whos.”