Author: Dele Ali

Hello everyone, on this website you can read my book for free.

Blurb: Andrew’s peaceful suburban life was shattered by the chaos of the city. Spiraling into reckless choices and psychosis, he hit rock bottom before finding the strength to rebuild and recover. 

Intro:

Warning: 

This book contains strong language, explicit sexual content, derogatory expressions, graphic scenes, taboo topics, and unsettling themes. It depicts the use of illegal drugs, criminal activities, occult practices, and mental illness, which may be disturbing to some readers. 

This book explores ideas and concepts that may influence the perception of reality for some readers, even if they appear harmless to others. Most geographical names, as well as the names of celebrities, movies, TV series, brands, books, and websites, are real. This book also contains spoilers, revealing key plot details from various movies and TV series. 

This book was originally written in English by a non-native speaker. It was edited by a native speaker fluent in English. It uses the imperial measurement system and references the US dollar as the currency. Dates are formatted as MM/DD/YYYY. 

Please do not harm yourself or others. Remember, it is better to endure the pain of discipline than the pain of regret. 

I began writing this book on April 13, 2024, and completed it on September 6, 2024—a journey of 147 days.

@Limbo 

Dedicated to doctor Lucy McFly, Barby Jo and 144,000. 

I was born a white male at the end of June 1994 in Split, Croatia, during a tumultuous time when the northern parts of Croatia were under attack during the Serbian occupation. I was raised in a white Roman-Catholic family and baptized on August 15, 1994. 

An old VHS tape captures a scene from that time: a Holy Mass held in front of a church in the suburbs of Split. The suburb, nestled between several hills at the base of a northern mountain, consisted only of houses. The sea was nearby, located just south of the area .

It was a hot, sunny day. Everyone was so young—my parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and my godfather. The priest took some water, poured it over my forehead, and said, “Andrew, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.” 

After the ceremony, we all returned to our house for lunch. It was a cozy, one-story home surrounded by beautiful trees and a garden. In the garden, my paternal grandfather, wearing an undershirt, was roasting two lambs in a dirt-covered area. 

The next scene on the old VHS tape shows me lying naked on a bed in one of the rooms. The cameraman captured this moment, even filming my tiny baby body. Shortly after, my mom entered the room, dressed me, and played with me. 

Later, the video shifts to me outside the house, after lunch. A woman was holding me in her arms, and the footage clearly shows me making a gesture with my hand—bending the middle and ring fingers while extending the others in what some might call a devilish sign.

The next scene on the tape shows my great-grandmother at the window of the upper floor, gazing at all the guests gathered in front of the northern side of the house. I never had the chance to meet her. However, on the night she passed away, just a few months after my baptism, I cried out loud in the middle of the night. My cries woke up the members of my household, and it was then they realized she was dying. 

The VHS tape ended. Later in life, I often wondered what my first true memory was—not what was captured on tape, but what I could recall myself. 

This is what came to mind: someone held me as a baby, just a few months old. In my perception, I seemed to float a few feet above the ground, feeling warm and safe, as though I weren’t being held at all. It happened in the northern part of the house, where the shade provided relief during the summer. For a brief moment, I saw my godfather, and then it was over. 

Everything before that moment remains a mystery to me. 

The second memory I have in this life is one that left a lasting impression. It was the middle of the night, and I was lying on my stomach in my crib, facing the wall. I remember feeling frozen, scared, and barely breathing as I listened to the loud and wild sounds of my parents on the bed nearby. At the time, I didn’t understand what was happening, but the intensity of the moment left me feeling deeply uneasy, as though my mom was being “tortured” by my father.

1997 (2/3) 

The third thing I remember in this life was likely from 1997. I was sitting at the dining table, drawing, while my mother prepared lunch in the kitchen. 

That was the year my brother was born. Another VHS tape captures his baptism, showing the lunch held at our house and a cake my mother had made for the occasion. In one part of the tape, I’m playing with other children inside the house. At one point, I began playfully repeating, “An-drew!” because the cameraman had been saying it too.

1998 (3/4) 

A year later, in 1998, my sister was born, and winter arrived. I started going to kindergarten. My father would wake me up at 6:30 in the morning, and it was always uncomfortable to get out of the warmth of my bed during the dark, cold part of the day. I would begin my mornings by washing my face and having breakfast. 

My father worked at a local military base, so he would drive me to kindergarten before heading to work. I was among the first children to arrive. There, I met local kids from the suburbs. Some became my friends, while others didn’t seem to like me—they looked down on me. 

We spent our time making drawings, and I had some good ideas, like creating an imaginary landscape with multiple levels of flat surfaces, featuring green grass, trees, and blue waterfalls. When the teachers saw what I drew, they were stunned. The kids who had looked down on me seemed jealous. I didn’t understand why they felt that way. 

Some of these children were older siblings of my friends—kids who were about to start school. When we played with toys, they always claimed the best ones. In a way, it felt fair because they were older, but they also did it possessively. I sometimes wished I had an older brother to take care of me, just like those older kids took care of their younger siblings, who were my age. 

Kindergarten was an interesting time in my life. One of the teachers was an elderly lady who could be quite rude, often using phrases like, “Where is your damn mother?” or “Damn it, behave decently!” I often wondered how someone like her was hired as a kindergarten teacher, but it became the “new normal” for me, so I accepted it. 

Speaking of the “new normal,” sometimes the teachers would put VHS tapes into the VCR under the TV, and we would watch Hollywood movies. One of them was Commando (1982), starring Arnold Schwarzenegger. While it was essentially a childish action movie with a predictable plot, it was also violent. Looking back, I realize it was inappropriate for children. We were exposed to violence from an early age, and it became normal to watch Arnold Schwarzenegger defeat his enemies in the most brutal ways. There was a sense of “normalcy” about the violence at the time, especially considering the ongoing war in parts of Croatia, which lasted from 1991 to 1995. 

Not everything we watched in kindergarten was inappropriate, though. We also saw Baby’s Day Out (1994), which tells the story of a 9-month-old baby who escapes from kidnappers and embarks on an adventure all over New York City.

It was the winter of 1999, and snow had fallen in the suburbs—a rare sight in Split. I was inside when I saw my aunts and uncle making a snowman in front of the house. I rushed outside to join them and enjoyed the snow, which had covered the mountain to the north and the hills surrounding the area. By the next day, the snow had melted, as it usually did. 

My parents arranged for me to spend the night with my father’s parents, who lived in Split. My parents, siblings, and I piled into an old Volkswagen and drove into the city. I remember the distinct smell of the car—so 90s—and the exhaust fumes of other cars on the road. The dashboard and speedometer, lit with colorful diodes, were pleasant to look at. My parents sat in the front seats, and I was in the middle of the back seat, with my brother and sister in their child seats. 

As we cruised towards the city, I noticed the city was much different from the suburbs, with tall buildings instead of houses. It felt like entering a big city for me. We arrived at my other grandparents’ apartment, which was on a higher floor in a building. They greeted us warmly, and we ate something together. 

I’m not sure if I forgot about the sleepover or if my parents planned it this way, but as soon as I saw them leave in the Volkswagen, I started crying. I felt abandoned, like I would never see them again. Eventually, I calmed down, and my grandmother, a kind lady from Samobor near Zagreb, comforted me. She had a lovely accent and always sounded so polite. She told me to draw something, then added that I’d have to do my homework once I started school. I was excited about going to school. 

The next morning, my grandfather, who worked at the bakery, had left fresh donuts on the table. I loved those donuts from the 90s—they were always so good. My grandmother made porridge and added slices of chocolate to it. She and my grandfather were amazing cooks, especially when it came to food. Later, my parents arrived and drove me back to the suburbs 

In kindergarten, we spent most of our time indoors due to the lack of space for outdoor play. On rare occasions, we were allowed to go outside and play with the ground. It wasn’t a special area filled with dirt, but the teachers would give us small plastic shovels, and we would use them to create little piles of earth. Occasionally, we would also go on field trips.

2000 (5/6) 

In 2000, I became one of the oldest children in kindergarten. It was my last year there, and I was about to start school. It felt like I was on the brink of becoming an adult. My grandmother from Split told me that we would be going to Zagreb, the capital of Croatia, to visit her family and relatives. One day, we boarded a plane, and I was excited—it was my first airplane ride. I was served a breakfast with a sandwich and juice. I sat by the window, watching the clouds and the ground below. 

When we arrived in Zagreb, we took a bus to Samobor, where we visited my grandmother’s family. There, I met my cousin, a girl who gave me colored pencils, and I spent my time drawing. It was a great visit, and we even went to a café where I had a locally prepared cream cake. 

Autumn 

Behind the garage, we had a small pig pen. During late fall, some people would come to slaughter the pigs. My mom told me to go inside the house, but I could still hear the pigs squealing. 

2001 (6/7)

We celebrated the New Year of 2001 with the usual tradition of firecrackers and fireworks lighting up the night. As spring arrived, nature began to wake up, and the suburbs took on a special charm. The air was filled with the fragrant smell of flowers blooming around the house. I noticed, for the first time, the cherry trees bursting into white blossoms—something I hadn’t paid attention to before.

My grandfather, who had a small plot of farmland on the outskirts of the suburbs toward Split, would often take his walk-behind tractor with wheels and a small trailer to the field. I’d go with him, along with my grandmother, parents, uncle, and some aunts. Once there, he’d replace the wheels with rotating metal cultivators and began preparing the land. The smell of freshly turned soil mixed with the exhaust from the tractor was oddly wonderful. Together, we planted potatoes. 

A river flowed through the suburbs, adding a natural charm to the area. My family had some land nearby, and I’d often go there with my father to pick walnuts for making walnut liqueur. The river was the ultimate “decoration” of the suburb, flowing under the mountain and emptying into the sea a few miles to the south. Water was free in the area because local residents had built their own supply system. In the summer, we’d fill a giant plastic tank with water to cool watermelons, beer, and other drinks. 

Every year on August 15, we celebrated the feast of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary. The whole family gathered for a big lunch with prosciutto, cheese, roasted lamb, and more. That summer, I discovered Coca-Cola and enjoyed the carefree days. 

Kindergarten had ended, and I was preparing to start school in the fall. 

During the summer, we often went to the sea to swim and sunbathe. The sea was nearby, warm, and freely accessible. The sound of crickets filled the air, and I loved being in the beautiful blue water. There was a striking contrast between the blue sea, green pine trees, and the green-gray mountains and hills. I noticed tourists from other countries visiting our area for vacation. 

One day, I saw some Mercedes and BMWs parked at our neighbor’s house—relatives of theirs had come to visit. When night fell, I went for a walk with my aunt. We passed a bus stop near our house where a group of “older kids,” as I thought of them—teenagers between 13 and 18—gathered on warm summer nights to chat and have fun. My aunt told me that one day, when I grew up and my parents allowed it, I’d join groups like that too. 

As summer drew to a close in September 2001, our garden near the house was quiet, with no more tomato or potato plants left for the season. I’d often take a hoe and play in the soil, imagining my own little adventures.

I spent hours digging holes, creating imaginary roads, tunnels, and landscapes. Sometimes, I pretended to be a giant, using the hoe to mimic “explosions” on the ground.

School began on September 10. My mom walked me to a school just a 10-minute walk from our house. The school was situated at the foot of a hill, with a local soccer field nearby. Close to the field was the river I had mentioned before, and on the south side of the hill was a quarry where my grandfather worked as a transport truck driver. 

It was also the era of Pokémon, those imaginary creatures from the popular TV cartoon. They were everywhere—on TV, in conversations with friends, and in our imaginations. 

When we arrived at the school, I noticed that part of it was still under construction. On one of the unfinished walls, someone had painted a large graffiti of a Pokémon. My mom took a picture of me standing in front of it.

The first day of school was exciting. We started with an introduction activity where each of us wrote our name on a paper fish cutout. That week, classes were held in the afternoon, which felt a bit unusual but also kind of cool. 

The next day, September 11, I was playing in the garden that morning. When I walked into the house, the TV was showing footage of buildings on fire in New York, USA. They were called “The Twins.” I overheard that two planes had crashed into the buildings. 

Later that evening, after school, I watched the news again and saw the moment those buildings collapsed. I wasn’t traumatized by the event—perhaps because violence felt like the new normal, or maybe because I was too young to fully understand what was happening.

I made some new friends at school, one of whom was Lenny. He lived in the southern part of the suburbs, closer to the sea. School felt like a “kindergarten on steroids.” 

It was also where I started using swear words, just like my friends. In our conversations, words like “fuck,” “pussy,” “dick,” and “jerk off” were thrown around regularly. I’m not sure who started the trend, but I got hooked. It felt liberating in a way I’d never experienced before.

Since I lived close to the school, my friends would stop by my house so we could walk together. My first-grade teacher was beautiful, and I had a crush on her, even though she was likely three times my age. I wasn’t madly in love, but I really liked her. 

She seemed effortlessly cool, especially during breaks, sipping coffee and smoking. I still remember how, during class, she leaned over to explain something, and her breath smelled like cigarettes and coffee—but in a strangely pleasant way. 

I made close friends and started getting invited to birthday parties. One of my closest friends, who lived nearby, had a birthday on May 1st and always threw big parties. I envied him because so many people showed up. For my birthday, fewer people came, though that was partly my fault—I didn’t want to invite everyone. 

At these parties, we played a war game. We’d split into teams, grab sticks as pretend guns, and hide around the house, garage, or garden. If you saw someone first, you’d yell, “Bang bang! X,Y is dead!” It was like an advanced version of hide-and-seek. We also played regular hide-and-seek, and the houses and gardens had endless spots to hide.

The neighbor who filmed my baptism was my mother’s cousin. He lived across the street from us and worked as a photographer and videographer. One day, his son was celebrating his first Holy Communion, so my family and I went to a small village in the mountains above the suburbs to celebrate. 

We had lunch at a quaint restaurant, and nearby were two narrow fields about 50 yards long, filled with fine pebbles—bocce courts. For those unfamiliar, bocce involves tossing a smaller ball toward the far end of the court and then trying to throw larger balls as close to it as possible. 

We were having fun playing a match on one court when a group of locals arrived to play on the neighboring field. They were loud and aggressive, and their language shocked me. They started swearing in ways I’d never heard before, using phrases like “God fucked you,” “fuck you, whore Virgin Mary,” and “fuck you, Jesus.” 

Raised as a Roman Catholic, I wasn’t prepared for such blasphemous language. It was jarring, and even more surprising was that no one said a word in response—not even my father. We all just stood there, quietly enduring their tirade. 

The first grade ended, and I proudly brought home top grades. It was a reward that felt like an open door to a carefree summer. On weekends, my family and I would pile into our new car and drive south along the Croatian coast toward the charming town of Omiš. Unlike the pebbled beaches of the suburbs, the ones here were sandy, soft, and golden. Walking on them felt like stepping into a tropical paradise.

We’d spend the entire day basking in the sun and swimming in the pristine sea. My father would inflate a floating mattress, and we’d take turns using it. I turned it into an imaginary ferry, “transporting” tiny invisible passengers from one part of the beach to another. We’d pack food and drinks into a portable fridge, ensuring we stayed refreshed throughout the day. 

As evening rolled in, we’d head home. Sometimes the journey back was slowed by traffic jams as the summer months brought an influx of foreign tourists. Once home, we’d enjoy a hearty dinner made with locally grown potatoes, tomatoes, and cucumbers, a true taste of the season. 

On other weekends, I’d visit the same sandy beaches with my aunts and their friends. I distinctly remember one such trip: we rode in a red Ford Sierra, cruising south under the blazing 95°F summer heat. The radio played “Yes or No” by Divas, a song that felt like the perfect soundtrack to that moment. The warm breeze from the open windows, the chatter in the car, and the familiar melody blended into a memory that’s stayed with me ever since. 

One afternoon, I was at home and decided to take a walk. I was on my way to Lenny’s house but paused halfway by the bridge over the river, where I spent some time tossing rocks into the water, enjoying myself. As it began to get dark, I had a sense that something wasn’t right, so I decided to head home. On my way back, an older girl stopped me on the street and asked why I was out so late on my own. I don’t recall what I said, but I clearly remember my mom being upset when she got home. She grabbed her belt and was about to hit me with it. I ran upstairs, hoping my grandmother would protect me, but eventually, I had no choice but to go back downstairs and face the punishment. 

One afternoon, my brother and I were playing outside the house. We used a water hose to create puddles in the garden and played in the mud. My father came over, upset, and told us to go inside. I was in the living room with my brother and my uncle, who was watching Formula 1 with my father. Meanwhile, my father was in their room getting a belt. My uncle glanced at me with pity, like a helpless animal about to be punished, and I looked at him with envy, wishing I didn’t have to face the consequences. My father told my brother and me to go to our room, where he began to beat us with a belt simply because we had been playing with water and mud. As he hit us, he said, “Now you will see your God.” We cried, and when he finished, he told us to stay in our room and sleep, even though it was still early in the afternoon. After some time, our mom came in and comforted us, saying that Dad had gone too far. 

I went to Split to visit my grandparents, where I spent time with my uncle Benny, my dad’s brother. Uncle Benny lived with my grandparents because he was disabled. He had been paralyzed in his arms and hands due to a mistake with a vaccine he received as a child, which led to him suffering from polio. The doctors responsible for the mistake destroyed all the documentation related to the vaccine administration. As a result, Uncle Benny’s right arm was completely paralyzed, and he couldn’t even lift it, unlike his left arm, which he could move while only being able to use a few fingers. 

Despite this, he could still eat and smoke on his own. Uncle Benny had a deep passion for cars, especially those from the 60s onward, and he knew everything there was to know about them. 

My grandmother from Split had a yellowish complexion due to her cancer. I believe she also wore a wig. She passed away in August. We had to organize the funeral, and my parents took me to buy black clothes for the occasion. On the day of the funeral, we arrived at the cemetery, where my parents, my Split grandfather, Uncle Benny, and I were present. Everyone was crying, and my grandfather was sobbing as he said, ‘Look at my wife.’ He kissed her. Now, her face was pale, and she looked as though she was simply sleeping. At the time, I was 8 years old and didn’t fully understand the concept of death, so I didn’t shed a single tear. We buried her, and later, a Holy Mass was held in Split, in their neighborhood. I will always remember her as a wonderful grandmother who took me to Zagreb by plane and told me that I would be a good student and always do my homework.

At the end of August or the beginning of September, the whole family would head to the outskirts of the suburbs, where we had a vineyard. The air was filled with the wonderful smell of grapes, grass, and soil as we harvested the grapes. After harvesting the grapes, we would take them home and make wine. In the northern part of the house, we had a garage and large rooms where we stored the wine barrels. In November, the whole family would head back to the olive grove near the vineyard to pick olives. Then we also made olive oil. I spent time with some children who lived down the street. We would usually gather around their houses, but one time we were at mine, and we entered the large rooms with barrels of wine and olive oil. We played for a while, and then everyone went home. I don’t remember the details clearly, but at one point, my dad came and accused me of something. Apparently, I had opened the barrel valves, causing many gallons of wine to spill onto the floor. Then, he beat me. I don’t remember the full story, but that’s what I was led to believe for many years. I know I didn’t do it, because I wouldn’t mess with something like that. It was probably the children I spent time with. I was so overwhelmed by accusations and jokes about the incident that, over time, I started to believe it. 

It was December 2002, and the Christmas and New Year holidays were approaching My friends and I bought some small firecrackers, and we had a lot of fun. We would place the firecrackers in various holes to create a bigger ‘boom.’ We also tried lining up 10-15 of them in a row for a bigger explosion. Some of us, myself included, would test our bravery by lighting a firecracker and holding it by the tip of our fingers, letting it explode in our hands. On New Year’s Eve, my parents went out to dinner. My siblings were already asleep, and only my grandparents were at home. Just before midnight, I went outside to light firecrackers. I ran into the kids who had spilled the wine earlier, and they were with me on the street. When the clock struck midnight, we started lighting firecrackers, and the whole suburb erupted in fireworks. As we lit and threw firecrackers, we gradually walked toward the house of my neighbor, who was also my classmate. I spotted him on the top floor of his house, standing on the balcony with his family, also tossing firecrackers. I wished my neighbor a Happy New Year and then went home. 

As I entered, the fireworks and firecrackers had stopped, and I enjoyed the sudden silence. In that moment, I thought to myself, ‘I wish I were somewhere else, at a party with some cool people.’ My neighbor seemed to have that, at least he was with his family. For the first time, I felt the need to be somewhere where everything was perfect, somewhere I felt wanted and loved. I longed for an escape from reality, so I switched on the TV, and Total Recall had just started. It was a 1990 sci-fi movie about a man on a mission to Mars, tasked with liberating the planet. The film was filled with violence and was probably inappropriate for someone my age, but with no one around to stop me, I watched it and enjoyed every moment until the end. 

That winter, I fell ill with a fever, and the experience was deeply unpleasant—I just wanted it to end. When I slept, I had strange and vague dreams, unlike my usual pleasant ones that I’d wake up remembering fondly. In those feverish dreams, I found myself in the middle of a cemetery at night, with indistinct voices of people talking in the background.

My uncle, who lived upstairs, owned a PlayStation 1. It was connected to an old TV in his closet, and we spent hours playing classic games. Even now, I can still recall the distinct smell of the vintage console. He also had a Walkman with headphones, powered by batteries. One night, I accidentally left it on overnight, and he was angry with me the next day. My father brought home a personal computer (PC) with the Windows 98 operating system. He primarily needed it for his day job and also for his duties as a secretary at the local soccer club on Saturdays. While tools like Excel or Internet Explorer didn’t interest me, I was eager to play games. Back then, games were simple but entertaining. I enjoyed playing 2D games like Dyna Blaster, while my dad would often play pinball.

I had a crush on a girl in my class and would often imagine the two of us together, lying in her bed, dressed only in our underwear, sharing a kiss. That spring, our class went on a field trip. We packed bags filled with sandwiches and drinks, and early in the morning, we boarded the bus, buzzing with excitement for the day ahead. I sat with Lenny in a seat between the back row and the bus door. The last row was reserved for the coolest kids. While I had a good status in my class and was considered cool, sitting in the back row never really mattered to me. The sun was already shining brightly as we began our journey, heading towards the mountains that loomed over the suburbs.

We sang songs, shared jokes over the bus microphone, and had a great time. I noticed that some of my friends already had cell phones, which made me feel a bit curious and amazed. At one point, an overwhelming sense of life’s fleeting nature washed over me, as if one day my friends might no longer be here. That thought brought tears to my eyes. The bus stopped shortly after, and we all sat down for lunch. However, my tears continued to flow in front of the boys, girls, and teachers. Everyone seemed puzzled as to why I was crying, and even my teacher tried to console me. Eventually, I managed to stop, though the moment felt awkward. I don’t recall my teacher or parents ever discussing the incident afterward. When I got home and entered my room, I took a piece of paper and wrote the words, ‘I’m stupid and worthless,’ then placed it on the closet. A few days later, my father found the note and asked me why I felt that way. I struggled to find the right words to explain. 

Life at school returned to normal, and my crying was quickly forgotten. Despite that, Dad bought me a new bike—a cool one with front and rear suspension. Now that I was a bit older, I was allowed to ride my bike to Lenny’s house. We spent time there, watching his brother play Call of Duty Multiplayer. It was a war game where you could choose to play as the ‘Axis’ or ‘Allies’ team, and the goal was to eliminate the opposing team members. The mode was called ‘Team Deathmatch,’ but there was also another mode called ‘Deathmatch,’ where everyone fought against each other. In Call of Duty, when you were killed, you’d respawn, and the player with the most kills at the end would win. It was very different from the games I played on my computer; being a 3D game, it looked quite realistic for its time. After we finished watching his brother play, I headed home. When I went to pick up my bike, Lenny’s younger brother brought it back to me, and the bike was completely destroyed. He probably broke it on purpose, and when he handed it to me, he just laughed. Lenny was also laughing, and I was left in shock and disappointment. I went home, having to push the bike because I couldn’t ride it. As I walked, tears streamed down my face, and I could hear the cars passing by. I got halfway home, still crying. As I was walking home, a man saw me and, with a smile, said, ‘Why are you crying? Girls won’t love you.’ When I got home, I stopped crying. I didn’t tell anyone about it. When my dad asked what happened to the bike, I made something up.

A few days later, the bike was somehow repaired, but I never rode it back to Lenny’s. However, I never blamed Lenny for laughing. Life went on—I continued going to school, but I realized that school itself was boring. The only thing that made it fun was spending time with my friends. I fell into a routine that revolved around school, hanging out with friends, playing video games on the computer, and doing homework only when absolutely necessary. One memorable day at school, we were all eagerly waiting for the bell to ring so we could leave the classroom. I decided to count down from 10 to 0 out loud: ’10, 9, 8…’ The moment I reached zero, the bell rang perfectly in sync. It was such a cool and unforgettable moment.

One game that my uncle downloaded called, ‘Max Payne’, was particularly interesting. It was a 3D game where you controlled your character from behind.

The game’s plot revolved around a man on a mission to kill those responsible for the deaths of his wife and daughter. It had some scary parts, which made sense considering its 17+ rating.

At school, I would talk to my friends about that game and other games, and it was great to have something in common with them. However, on the way home, when everyone was talking about the latest TV show on the Nova TV channel, which wasn’t available in my house, I felt so disconnected. I only had Croatian national channels – HRT1 and HRT2. They would laugh and repeat lines from the show, and only me and one girl were left out since we didn’t have that channel. It wasn’t that bad. At least we could talk about Pokémon and Max Payne. Oh, and the topic of relationships started to come up. I was beginning to understand what relationships between people meant, though I hadn’t experienced anything like that myself.

One day, I went to Lenny’s. One of our classmates lived nearby, so the three of us walked uphill towards the forest. In the forest, there was an abandoned house that was still under construction. We entered the house, and then one of my friends showed us a porn magazine. The magazine contained explicit content, and we looked through it. I was curious about what I saw. I think I even felt a bit nervous or excited. My friend commented that this was what fucking looked like and that it was supposed to feel good. After that, we headed home.

The next day at school, we continued discussing topics like sex and other related matters. Later, when I got home and found myself alone, I suddenly felt the urge to explore these thoughts further and quickly undressed. I experienced a new and unfamiliar sensation, which I found intriguing. At that time, I experienced dry orgasms without ejaculation and was able to climax multiple times. Over the next few days, I continued experimenting, with my record reaching about ten consecutive orgasms. 

Curious, I turned on my computer and searched for terms like “fucking,” but I struggled to find what I considered “normal” porn. Most of the results were related to masturbation or animals, making me feel like the internet was still in its early stages of providing quality adult content. Perhaps it was just too soon. I never deleted my browsing history, and to this day, I still wonder why my dad never reacted. 

When summer arrived and school was out, I found myself standing in front of my house wearing only shorts. Our neighbors’ house was very close. As I stood there alone, an irresistible urge pushed me to walk closer and closer to their house. I even considered asking if I could join in on the “kissing.” I made it almost to their front door before stopping, turning around, and heading back home. Looking back now, I realize I had intense, uncontrollable sexual urges, but at the time, it felt completely natural. 

One day, I came across a cigarette lying on the ground in front of the house. It was probably my mother’s, as she was a smoker and often sent me to the store to buy her cigarettes. Curious, I grabbed a lighter and climbed to the top of the garage. Instead of smoking it, I simply lit the cigarette and let it burn on the ground. I found myself enjoying the aroma of the secondhand smoke, which smelled surprisingly pleasant to me. 

My parents got me a mobile phone—the iconic Nokia 3310.

I was happy with it, even though I had hoped for a Sony Ericsson T610 like the one Lenny had.

I enjoyed calling the “sexy” phone numbers on my Nokia and listening to women moaning on the other end. However, I soon realized it was both expensive and dull, so I gave it up. Lenny, on the other hand, had a Sony Ericsson with a color screen that could play videos—specifically, porn movies. He proudly told us that his uncle had sent him all those videos via Bluetooth. That’s when I decided to start saving money for a newer, more advanced mobile phone—one with a digital camera and the ability to play porn videos. 

My classmates and I went to the coast, to a beach near a small harbor. After a while, the beach felt dull, so we moved to the harbor, where we could jump into the sea from the pier. We practiced head dives, somersaults, and other tricks. Then, the girls from our class arrived, and we spent time hanging out with them. As I watched the girl I had a crush on at school, I found myself wondering what she would look like naked, even though she hadn’t even entered puberty yet.

During a family trip to Omiš beach, I ventured out for a solo swim, going a bit further from the shore than usual. I experienced a surge of excitement and, unseen by others, removed my swimming trunks while in the water. The thrill of being naked in the sea was intense. Feeling aroused, I masturbated underwater and ejaculated. 

My brother and I went for a sleepover in Split, staying with my grandpa and Uncle Benny. We had a wonderful time with Uncle Benny. After spending the night, we enjoyed breakfast the next morning, which included Grandpa’s famous donuts and milk. Later, Grandpa took us to Bačvice Beach in Split. It was a crescent-shaped sandy beach with several bars around it. On the southwestern side of the beach, there were cliffs, so we decided to explore them. The cliffs had grown from about 10 feet in height to as high as 50 feet. While my grandfather played cards with his friends, my brother and I swam. Later, we climbed some of the lower cliffs to jump into the sea. My brother was drinking Coca-Cola on one of the cliffs when a rude kid from Split came up and asked for a sip. My brother refused, but I told him to share. My brother ended up spilling the drink and then the kid left. I didn’t stand up for my brother at the time because I didn’t know any better. In hindsight, maybe it was for the best—if there had been a confrontation on the cliffs, we all could have been hurt. 

The following summer, when I was 10, I began spending time with some 11-year-olds in my neighborhood. One day, at an 11-year-old’s house, he showed me a large folder of high-quality pornography on his computer. I was immediately envious. He then proceeded to masturbate. Although initially surprised, I was also excited and understood the feeling. I chose not to participate, but I did watch the pornography. 

I was old enough that my parents allowed me to go to the sea in Split. The next day, Lenny, my older friends, and I hopped on a bus that took us all the way to Split. The city itself was located on a peninsula, with a hill covered in forest at the top. While there were many beaches around the forest, we didn’t visit them. Instead, we headed to the center of Split and then walked south to Bačvice Beach. We laid our towels down, hid the money for the bus ticket home, and went for a swim. Bačvice Beach was shallow for the first hundred yards, and only after that did the sea get deeper. The shallow area was perfect for playing a game called “picigin.” It requires at least 2-3 players, but can have up to 9-10. The goal is to hit a small ball with your hands to keep it above the water for as long as possible. Since the game is played in shallow water and people don’t always have the best aim, you sometimes have to jump to the side to kick the ball or throw yourself to the side to hit it just before falling into the sea.

We had a lot of fun playing picigin. We also jumped from the lowest cliffs, but when we climbed up to about 30 feet, we got scared. Later, some kids from Split arrived, and one of them used the same kind of offensive language I’d heard at that suburban gathering. He said things like “God fucks you” and “fuck you Virgin Mary.” He also drew a Nazi swastika on his chest with a pen. To top it off, he then jumped off a 30-foot cliff, performing some minor stunts as he went. 

The troubling part was that we all admired him. Emboldened, I worked up the nerve to jump. The instant I left the cliff, fear gripped me, and I questioned my decision. A moment later, I hit the water, and the feeling was incredible. I had faced my fear and proven something to myself. I jumped again, but this time, upon landing, my leg scraped against some rocks, causing a small, bleeding wound. 

After I climbed back up, one of my friends, already hesitant to jump, saw my wound and admitted it had completely discouraged him. However, Lenny bravely took the plunge. Once he was back up, we moved on to explore more cliffs. We found ourselves near the Split ferry port and discovered an abandoned building that provided access to even higher cliffs. 

On our way, we encountered human feces, urine stains, and used syringes scattered on the ground. The stench was awful, and we all realized it was a known hangout for drug users. The final cliff we reached was significantly larger than the others. We even saw some older guys diving headfirst from the top. We then returned to our towels, got dressed, and took the bus home. Before boarding the bus, we grabbed some hot sandwiches. As we got on the bus heading home, Lenny’s older brother entered with his friend and two girlfriends. He greeted us, and I thought it would be amazing to have such a cool older brother. That summer, we went back to Split several times to swim and hang out at Bačvice. One time, I saw a couple holding hands, and they kissed after swimming. I wanted to be like that. 

Another time, some guys were chasing after some bad guys. They ran toward the center of Split, so we followed them to see what was going on. Apparently, the bad guys had been abusing some children on the cliffs, and others wanted to confront them. When they finally caught up with them, we found ourselves in the middle of the city at an intersection, still in our swimming shorts. We headed home. 

That year, RTL television also started broadcasting in Croatia. They aired American sitcoms like Family Matters, Full House, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, and others. I liked watching those shows, but I looked forward to the weekends more. At that time, RTL also aired some softcore films. You could see nudity, but not explicit content. That was enough for me. 

Croatia Television, HRT, didn’t offer anything like that. What they did air were reruns of Sex and the City. I always wanted to watch that show because all my friends bragged about it. It had some light sex scenes. I would try to sneak into the living room every night, but I often ran into my mom, who was watching it. She would shoo me away, even though I was just trying to catch a glimpse of the sex scenes in Sex and the City. 

That eventful summer came to an end, but my exploration of self-pleasure continued. It was likely around this time that I began experiencing ejaculation, which meant dealing with the resulting mess. 

School had started again, and I was in fourth grade. My parents told me we would be moving to Split in two years. Our house felt crowded. Some aunts moved to other houses in the suburbs, while others wanted to stay and start families there. I’m not really sure why we moved out in the first place. One day, I went to take out the trash, and on my way back, I saw my friends returning from practicing soccer at the local soccer club. 

I tried to sneak past them so they wouldn’t notice me. I hid in my neighbor’s yard, but it turned out to be a strange move and an awkward situation because they saw me. They asked what I was doing, but I didn’t say anything. 

Then they asked me why I didn’t play soccer. Eventually, I decided to start training at my local club. I wasn’t very good at soccer, mainly because I was clumsy and unsure of my skills. My coach, Ray, was a great player who had played in the senior division. I blamed him for not being able to turn me into a good player because I was hardworking, and he was stubborn in his coaching style. I’m not sure why I even stuck with it for so long. At one point, I stopped training, but I ended up coming back quickly. I started playing soccer matches in the little league. I was really insecure when I played, especially since I was in defense and sometimes had to be aggressive to stop the opponents. One time, I had to kick the ball toward the center of the field, but as soon as I struck it, I injured my hip. The match was paused, and I stepped off the field, away from the area where the other players were sitting. A few of my teammates came over to check on me. Naturally, I started crying, but luckily only a few people noticed. Afterward, we went to the dressing room to take a shower.

The older guys undressed and went to take a shower, while we younger players stayed in our underwear. It was embarrassing to be exposed, and I’m sure others felt the same way. Later, in another soccer match where we were losing 2-0, our team had a free kick from the corner of the field. I was about 20 yards from the goal when, unexpectedly, the ball came toward me. I kicked it and scored. I didn’t celebrate much because the score was still 2-1, so I started to jog back toward our goal, but my teammates were really excited. 

One day, Lenny and I were hanging out by the soccer field, the only ones there. We went to a nearby forest to relax. He told me he’d been to a brothel with another classmate and that the sex workers had put condoms on their penises before having sex with them. I wanted to believe him, but I suspected he was lying. He asked if I’d ever measured my penis, and I said it was about 4 inches erect. He claimed his was 5 inches, but I suspected he was exaggerating. I suggested we go to the river, turn our backs to each other, and masturbate. He agreed. We walked to the river, and I suggested using leaves for added stimulation. We masturbated and then went home. 

One day, Lenny and some older friends suggested we go to an abandoned quarry where my grandfather used to work. We explored the quarry, playing with some old fire extinguishers we found there. We climbed to the highest point, and the view was amazing, stretching across the entire suburb and even parts of Split. I returned home from that outing feeling good. 

2005 (10/11) 

The following year, I was in fifth grade. I went over to Lenny’s house, and he was playing GTA San Andreas. At the time, the game’s graphics were impressive. You could see your character from a third-person perspective and control their movements.

The game is set in three cities modeled after Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Las Vegas. The player character completes tasks called “missions” to advance the plot. Players can run, drive cars, planes, bicycles, and other vehicles. Missions aren’t mandatory all the time; players can freely explore the game’s map. You could visit cities and villages, go to a casino and gamble, and even play mini-games in bars. It was like a game within a game, offering complete immersion. We all used cheat codes, had fun, occasionally did missions, and generally enjoyed the game. GTA San Andreas had a great story and remains a cult classic to this day.

I installed the game on my own computer and played it, but my dad discovered it and, noting its 16+ age rating, forbade me from playing. Despite this, I played whenever I had the chance. The game also featured a multiplayer mode, similar to Call of Duty, where you could play online with people from all over the world. In this mode, there were virtually no restrictions. 

2006 (11/12) 

One of my aunts had an LG phone called the Chocolate. 

It was far more advanced than my basic Nokia. One night, I secretly borrowed it and listened to some songs on its vibrant color screen. I discovered the song “Luče moje” by Dragana Mirković, a Serbian pop-folk song that I’ve liked ever since.