Meeting Pepe’s dad and Oscar, my first coach, was the first turning point in my career.
My parents lived in Galicia, a region of Spain where kids, in the ‘80s, would start working early to help their parents. And that’s exactly what happened to Jose Manuel and Maria José, my dad and mum. They did not have the chance to finish school as it was important for their parents that they would work to bring some money home.
My dad became a sailor, going at sea for sometimes six months at a time. He would go fishing in Madagascar, Canada, crazy places, but would always come back with a smile on his face, happy to see his family. Maria José, my mother, was very humble, she cleaned offices for a living, she also took care of elderly people. She did not have an easy life but she was an amazing mom.
Both of them were always smiling, no matter how hard their life was. Their sense of sacrifice, yet always smiling, has been a guiding light throughout my life. But when it came to handball, things got a bit tough. However, Oscar was there for me (our former coach, the guy who cared about us and made us dream about handball), he was the coach of Cangas, where I started handball.
He would drive me home after each training session and, when it came to paying the licence, let’s whisper quietly that he did not call my parents twice to do it. Without him and his kindness, I would not be where I am now.
When I started handball, I would go and see the Cangas games every weekend. I would watch Alen Muratovic and his incredible wrist and he would put stars in my eyes.
I was a massive fan, not missing a single home game and even going on trips with my friends to away games. I remember going to Irun for the last game of the season when Cangas qualified for the EHF Cup. I remember these days very vividly. It would be all about handball, and our only dream, for Pepe, Hugo, Aaron and me, would be to play for Cangas one day.
We would collect wristbands full of sweat given away by the players, one jersey here and there, and this magic would be plenty enough for the four of us.
But all of this immaculate picture broke down to pieces, though happily, when my parents received a phone call.
I was 15, and FC Barcelona had just called. They wanted to integrate me into their handball school after seeing me at a tournament. My mum talked to me about that call, and at first, I did not understand what it was about. “Going on a trip to Barcelona? Yeah, of course!” I said, being a fan of the Barça football team
I really thought they were joking with me… But no, FC Barcelona wanted me. Not for a trip, but for handball!