They feel nice story, let me answer your comment, and alas the title is: happiness?

Prologue
I’m Jeremiah Sanobra Ignacio Diaz (Ignaje Sanodi).
Today I am a renowned writer, my pen is my letter and my charisma how to love me (could be vice versa).
I lived in a huge house, with many cars, women everywhere (prostitutes, the most beautiful and lovely), a fully bonded, five cooks, two stewards, three outfielders, four cleaners, two guards, two drivers and three guards security. Wonder how far have cost me the luxury class. And answer honestly, it took me to happiness.
Spend and spend. He had all the money in the world, thanks to sales of my books celebrities, they had given me what I always wanted, riches (happiness). But today, finally I realized that long greed had led me astray, making me believe that happiness is in the joy, when in fact this charity: charity of love, friendship and respect.
I said earlier, I lived, because the past has been responsible for giving a different route to my destination that matters twisted … But go back in time and mull over some things that made me come to desire the impossible. For that’s what I always wanted, insanely, eternal life.
He goes back to the age of six years, exactly to the 11 September 1998, the day when my father died.

I
The last time I saw my father was a cloudy afternoon in July. I remember I was playing with land near the entrance of the small estate where we lived, he emerged smiling across the gate. I kept playing. Seeing it was the least of all the time looking. Every evening appeared on the front gate … smile … sometimes angry … other most serious … that could have been that unusual arrival … continued playing.
I saw his shadow just behind me, the sun shone on the horizon, the sun prevented the leave of me. He stroked my head boldly ruffled his hair. Even I did not understand why so much happiness. Then put both hands under my armpits and a strong impulse I rushed to the air … what the hell was going on?
He put on the ground, bent down and continued to scorch as it had never done … I said nothing. I drop tears on my back … not understand the situation, such an action, such an explosion of feelings.
- I love you son. … I will always try to be a great pers …
Ran out of guts, he could not continue, put his face drooping, he felt ashamed that I had seen him mourn, download the lust of an inevitable misfortune. Unfortunately that still to me it was not important.
That was the last time I saw him. The next day he left very early, at the first signs of the day. My mother went with him, because waking was not feeling at home. He never returned.
To my mother, watching her every day away from the corridor, going who knows where. And each time she left, her eyes clouded his withered soul saddening, but I never found out why. Being so young I learn prevented such obvious things as pain and suffering and this was detrimental to my healthy development, no one explained what happened: he knew what was felt pain? I do not know. I knew I suffered from something, the atmosphere it whisper me, but beyond this life (my life) was normal.
For some strange reason my family symptoms experienced in the last two months, on 11 September 1998, reached the climax of despair, my mother called aloud for a powerful return to happiness, my sisters embraced her quiet, but with their hearts bursting with anguish. I could not do anything and still not understanding the origins of such declamations, I walked in silence to join the unusual meeting. In the afternoon a huge box of very huge size … much more than anyone here, was carried by four men.
It is the original text. The true is written in Spanish.

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