Why we're building this

My dad struggled with addiction. Now that I'm older, I can see how obvious some of the signs were. But when you're a child, you simply don't have the ability to understand certain things.

I grew up in a fairly typical, traditional Spanish family. My dad was always away working, and my mum was the one who was always there for us. My siblings and I were happy. For a big part of our childhood, we grew up with more than enough, and I know how lucky we were.

I still remember having a computer at home from a very young age, at a time when that wasn't something most people had. My dad has always been passionate about technology. One of his projects was building his own PC from scratch, piece by piece. Today, you can go online and, with a couple of clicks, have pretty much any computer you want. Thirty years ago, something as simple as building a PC was apparently an absolute odyssey.

Because of him, my siblings and I knew what we wanted to do long before computers and technology became what they are today.

At some point, our parents got divorced, and everything changed. We went from living a comfortable life to barely making it to the end of the month. We went from having everything to suddenly watching my mum take whatever work she could find, doing everything she could to keep us afloat for another day.

Around that time, gambling was becoming increasingly popular, and to me, that world was incredibly appealing. The promise was impossible to resist: the chance to make a lot of money in a very short amount of time.

It felt like the answer to everything I had been looking for. A way to bring back the financial stability we had lost. A way to make my mum feel safe and at peace again.

As you can imagine, that was the beginning of a terrible period of my life.

I would put my entire salary into gambling. I would wake up and immediately start looking at potential bets. I dreamed about betting. I studied the markets, trying to convince myself that I wasn't addicted, that there was actually a strategy behind what I was doing.

And the worst part is that the deeper you get into that world, the more you learn about it. And everything is designed to keep you there just a little longer.

The so-called professional gamblers. The advertising. The endless content. And above all, the promise.

For me, the story with gambling ended relatively well. I realized fairly early on how much damage it could cause, and I managed to take some positive lessons from the experience. Lessons that, to this day, help me deal with other aspects of my life.

It wasn't the same for my little brother.

When he discovered gambling, he was a teenager. He was still growing, still learning how to understand the world, and simply didn't have the maturity to properly judge what he was getting into.

Without anyone realizing it, gambling became part of him.

I don't remember exactly how many years he has been fighting it, but I know what he has been going through. Ever since I found out about his addiction, I have tried to help him. Not just me. Everyone around him has.

Therapy. Supervision. Monitoring. Trying to make sure he was okay.

But my dad once told us something that has always stayed with me: gambling addiction is one of the most dangerous addictions because you can't see it.

There are no obvious signs. It can be hidden. Someone can be falling apart inside while looking completely fine from the outside.

After spending so long trying everything we could to get him out of that situation, I eventually decided to stop.

It was consuming me — my everyday life, my relationships, the people around me. I moved to another country around that time, and it took longer, but eventually I stopped asking how he was doing too.

The last thing I heard, before I stopped asking, was that he was in treatment, and that the people around him were trying to keep an eye on him.

And even though I'm far away from home, and even though I tell myself that I don't care anymore, I still think about you every single day.

I would build the whole world for you, A.