I always struggle to recognize I was born an artist. I fought it and I denied it almost my entire life. But deep inside I just wanted to be a real one.
I started to draw when I was 8 years old in third grade. My school friends started the fad of drawing little princesses with round faces, curly up dos and puffy dresses (dresses have never been my thing, cannot care less for clothing) so I joined the trend and started doing the same thing: elegant but stiff looking princesses.
By fourth grade however, during summer break I discovered romance comics in one hand and scary ones in the other. I decided right there that I wanted to achieve the same realistic looking faces and expressions. So by the time I returned to school I was very eager to show my friends what I have gotten myself into. They really liked my new drawing style and even tried to copy it. But they couldn't.
Encouraged with this new hobbie I decided I should continue perfecting it and worked at it to my heart's content. Until six grade came and went, my new addiction got so bad I failed the whole course and I had to do it over again because the whole year I spent it drawing, listening to radio soap-operas (that was the thing of the day better that any tv show or video game nowadays) and lastly reading comic books.
You should have seen the back of my work books and notebooks, full of plots and story lines (no words mind you just drawings), I would happy to do them even well into college. I would forgo comic books and the radio soaps but drawing grew bigger and bigger as years went by!