Sometimes, when I’m all alone in the vast emptiness of my apartment, I can’t help but think over why it was me who was given this life. The truth is that all of my success is down to luck.

From the petri dish where I had a one in seventy chance of fertilising, to the university I pushed myself through with lottery funding, my dreams are cast on the spells of chance.

But what if my luck hadn’t have paid off? That’s what haunts me those lonely evenings.

A long time ago, war broke out between France and one of its colonies, Algeria, and with the war, my grandfather went to Africa and met his wife. So it came to be that my father was born and he in turn spawned me. But were it not for thousands of lost lives, I would not exist. A part of me thinks that in a parallel universe the world really would have been better off without me, because of the lives that lived to their fullest.

So I use my speculations to make Algeria a better place as their leader, because I am the outcome of what ruined the country.