It is that moment when existence first drawsbreath, like a life that slowly, gently takesform.Identity, too, is shaped little by little, layerupon layer, without haste, as cells are woventogether or memories are etched into themind.What remains is a quiet, simplepresence: a living core suspended in a spacewithout boundaries, neither fully definednor entirely unknown.And there lingers thesame silent question, whispering throughtime: Where did I begin?