When I was a little child - maybe just three years old - I had an obsession with red motorcycles.
I used to sit for hours with motorcycle magazines, just staring at the pictures. The shapes, their colors, were the coolest thing I knew.
Then, suddenly, I was sent to have a surgery, and had to stay in the hospital for few days. during my stay, all I had were those magazines - and they occupied me all day long.
When I was released from the hospital, my Grandma wanted to surprise me - so she bought me a real life-size red motorcycle (on a battery) that I could ride on.
She placed it smack dab in the center of the living room so that I'd see it when I entered.
And the moment I saw it, I immediately ran out of the room, crying. I was terrified of the encounter with the real thing.
It took me weeks to be brave enough to approach the motorcycle once again.
In a way, my relationship with images hasn’t changed since then.