One of the weirdest stories I’ve read recently, starts like this and gets weirder as it goes:

You wouldn’t guess it looking at me now, but I had a pretty ordinary childhood and early adulthood. My parents weren’t rich, but we weren’t poor either. I grew up in one of those suburbs where every house is a variation of four basic designs. I went to a state school for college and took out student loans. I got a job in a satellite city which had nothing to do with what I studied in university. Along the way, I had several more or less serious relationships which, by the time I was twenty six, made me rethink my definition of love.

Anyways, all of that changed, kind of got lost in terms of my identity, when I became a mining camp in South America.