My parents called me Mikel. Then everyone else started to. I was born on June 3, 1982 in Pamplona, the city I have to thank for my family’s roots. I grew up in Vitoria, which I can thank for my first friendships, my early education, and various clumsy but sincere loves. In Bilbao, another city where I contracted debts of eternal friendship, I studied telecommunications engineering, a logical step on a path that I followed down to the last detail, even if no one had marked it out for me. In Madrid, where for four years, I worked in an office and followed the routines of a proper grownup, the miracle came, or the reaction, and my university degree became useless, making way for music, and later on, literature. Today they both feed my soul, and pay my bills, to my parents’ relief.
I don’t have much else to say. I like my mother’s cannelloni, my father’s pride – my mother is better at hiding hers – and when she sees me on the stage or signing books, my sister’s patience with her icy brother and my loved ones’ disregard for all the extraordinary things that have happened to me these past years.”
