I have often heard that the most difficult thing in life is to start something. Then 3-2-1: go. My name is Fanny Cloutier. I'm fourteen, almost fifteen, but not really to be honest. The two things that I know how to do best in life are drawing and submitting (YES SUBIR) the eccentric decisions of a father. Who am I talking to, actually? If you read these lines, it's because my journal is = A) fallen on the subway (well, I never take the subway, what am I talking about)? B) Worse. That he slipped from my bag, direct in front of the entrance of the school (OMG, do-it-that-it-is-not-that) C) Or catastrophe of the international type: it is that YOU ARE MY FATHER. This year, I went to a half-hair to miss my adolescence and I know one thing for sure: without you, newspaper, I would have NEVER arrived.