Winter in Paris.

My father taught me to write in the winter of 1994 when I was turning four in Paris. We usually sat on the carpet and leaned back on settee while dad coaching my calligraphy using fountain pen.

Our library had a fireplace situated in front of the settee. Every time if my dad found that my writing was illegible, he would crumple it up and put aside the papers. As the temperature dropped, I would toss it into grate and papers would be an alternative to the logs to keep us cosy in winter. With this in mind, you should realise that this was why I was good in throwing. I acquired the skills there that helped me in basketball.

I think the chimney in our old castle of Paris is still functional. Then, I would probably travel to Paris this winter rather than Korea to visit my brother.