My father looked like an old-school Lebanese businessman. Oversized suits, polished shoes and the confidence that seemed to belong to another era. But that was only one version of him. The other lived on racetracks across Asia, Australia and New Zealand.

Through racing, he crossed paths with figures such as Ayrton Senna, Michael Schumacher and Mika Häkkinen. Long before I understood who they were, their names floated through conversations, photographs and stories at home.

This copy of Meine Welt by Rudolf Caracciola was given to my father by Alice Caracciola. The inscription inside turned the book from a biography into something more personal, a small link between generations of people obsessed with speed.

I started karting when I was eleven and probably read this book at fourteen or fifteen. At that age, I was less interested in the technical details and more interested in understanding what drives someone to dedicate their life to a single pursuit.

What stayed with me were not the victories. It was the constant presence of risk. Page after page, the book reminds the reader that racing was once inseparable from death, and that many drivers accepted this reality without hesitation.

The stories mirrored parts of my father's own world. Friends, competitors and racers disappeared chasing the same dream. The pursuit of excellence often came with a price few people outside the sport could truly understand.