I was told that I was born in a sort of Health Center located in a building called “La Acera” in the southern town of Santa Rosa, in the Misiones province, in Paraguay. It was on the early hours of March 28, 1964. We lived near the edge of the village in a government land that my father, who was a Police officer, has achieved profitably for many years.Things were like this in those years where the epidemic of the dictatorship spread it a culture of corruption, political patronage and nepotism everywhere. There was another public land next to our home and that was also used to cultivate maniocs. I was the last of a six brothers and sisters of a dysfunctional and often violent family that we lived in a house surrounded by a large patio in the front, a chicken coop and a pigsty on the side and a plot of oranges and lemons in the back. Our mother held a whip in the dining room wall as a show of force. When her powerful arms held me and punished me to exhaustion, almost every day, I have come to think to take my life on more than one occasion. I really do not know how I survived.