My parents and I had grown up in the same family in Brazil, and we had gone to the same university.
We had all been brought up in small towns, where we would spend most of our time, studying for the same exams.
It was in our tiny dormitory that my parents had introduced me to the art of photography.
When I was 11, I bought my first camera, and after my parents’ death, I moved to Paris to study film.
But I never really had much of a choice.
We were both poor and in desperate need of a better life.
So, after graduating, I got a job in a film factory, and soon after, I found myself in the position of a young man who was in desperate circumstances.
When my parents were killed, my younger brother was forced to marry a woman who he had not even met before he was brought up.
He had to spend years in hiding in a convent, as the law prevented him from having any contact with his brother.
So it was only when he started going to school that I realised the extent of his trauma.
My mother was a nurse, my father a doctor, so we all lived together.
I was lucky enough to go to a good school, but it was my first year of high school.
I did not have much choice, I had to go back to the countryside.
So I moved back to a small town, where I was bullied and was treated as a foreigner.
I had no friends, I could not speak English, and I was completely isolated.
I remember the first time I went out to my apartment, I ran into a boy who I had never seen before.
I told him that I had a camera and asked him to help me.
When he saw my camera, he said: “That’s me, you’re my brother”.
I did my best to explain to him that he was my brother, and that I loved him very much.
He told me that he had been in the army for six years, and he was now in the police force.
When we were at the police station, the policeman told me he did not want to give me my brother back, he wanted me to go home.
So we had to walk home.
I felt so scared and ashamed, and it was a terrible experience for me.
But he said to me: “I am not a murderer, I have a wife and a baby, I will do everything in my power to help you.”
So I took his advice and walked home, and for the first six years of my life I had very few friends, even though I was the only one in my family.
But at the age of 18, I started to have friends and to start to meet new people.
My first experience of the outside world was in a cafe.
A girl asked me what was going on, I replied that I was going to a bar, and she told me she was going home.
And then she said: I saw you at the cafe, I saw a little boy, he was very handsome, and you are my brother.
And I was very happy that she had told me, and when I saw her again, I went home with her.
I am not the most talented person in the world, but I am always happy to share my talent with anyone.
I met the best friends of my friends.
My friends in my class, who were friends with the boys in my school, started to like me.
I started seeing other girls, who I would never have been able to meet otherwise.
One of them was a young girl who I loved so much.
I spent every day with her, we talked about everything.
I became very close to her.
But then something happened.
When she got older, she started to behave strangely, and my friends started to feel ashamed.
I could tell that she was afraid of the people around her, but she was very much afraid of me.
So she began to have an affair with another boy, a man she had known since she was in her late teens.
I went to the police and asked them to do something about her, because I was terrified that she would end up in prison, or that her parents would kill her.
And they did.
The next day I went on the streets, with the hope that I could convince the police to give my friend the help she needed.
But the next day, the police came and told me to come to the station.
I thought: “How could I go to the street to complain about a woman?”
So I sat in a chair in the street, I cried, I asked the police, I begged them to take my brother away from me.
And as I was pleading, I remember thinking: “You cannot do this to me, they will kill me.” So