My eyes… are opening.
A light. Bright. But my vision is blurry. I'm trying to make sense of the world, but everything is hazy. There's a warmth, both comforting and strange. A hand, soft, is touching me. My arms are twitching involuntarily; I think I'm learning to move, but I don't know how.
There are sounds. Whispers, words… but I don't understand. The languages are foreign to me. I can only hear the tones: a soft, reassuring voice and a slightly stern, careful voice.
I squint my eyes and scan my surroundings. Wood… everything is wood. The walls, the floor, the furniture… all hard but in warm tones. A chair, a table, a bed... they all seem enormous to me. I am small, very small.
I feel warmth. Something stirs inside me; is it hunger, or just the unfamiliarity of being newly born? I don't know. I just feel it.
A hand touches me again. This time it strokes my face, gently holds my hair. Mum… yes, it must be Mum. My eyes are blurry but I focus. Her blonde hair shines, her eyes are blue and very bright. Her face is tired but somehow beautiful; sweaty after giving birth but elegant, noble.
Father... another voice. Deeper, more reassuring. I try to make out his face. He has light blond hair and green eyes. An average type... but his gaze is warm, attentive.
I look outside. There is a window. I notice the light. Green... everything is green. The grass, fresh, vibrant. The air is crisp. I have a strange feeling inside; soothing, but my mind is confused. I still don't understand, I don't understand the language. I can't speak.
Father leans towards me. 'Uhan-tel... shira filen? Look at this little one, ah...'
I don't understand. I just observe. His tone is serious, but affectionate; his face is slightly smiling, his eyes are bright.
Mother replies, in a soft tone: 'Lurean... seshti kalen... but her eyes are very beautiful, yes...'
I still don't understand. But I notice her smile, the tired but loving expression on her face. Her hands touch me, stroke my hair, wipe my forehead.
Father speaks again: 'Falen... utri sokel? Ah, yes, yes...'
Mother smiles softly: 'Seshti... so quiet, calm... sweet little one...'
The words don't carry meaning. Only the tones, the rhythms, and the facial expressions tell me something: warmth, trust, interest.
My mother takes me in her arms. She leans me against her chest, gently opens her breast. My eyes notice... the shape, the colour, the warmth. Interesting. Beautiful. I'm curious, I look, I examine.
And instinctively… I open my mouth. My lips touch her skin, soft and warm. Milk… flows. I begin to suckle. My eyes close slightly, filling with warmth and security. I just feel, I just taste… and for a moment, I let go of the world.
After drinking the milk, I open my eyes.
Once more… and again… each time my head sways slightly, my arms and legs move strangely. I look at myself; small hands, small feet, a soft but weak body. Why am I so different? I remember my old body—it was strong, fast, I could control it… but now?
I turn my head. I always seem a little crooked, a little off-kilter. My arms and legs move strangely against gravity, my hands tremble. The face I see in the mirror... small, delicate, fragile. Strange. Very strange.
And constant sleep… there's a constant tiredness inside me. My eyes close, I struggle to stay awake, but I fall back asleep involuntarily. Why am I sleeping so much? Why does my body seem to move on its own? The old me… would never have felt so helpless.
I try to lift my arms, but they tremble and fall. I move my legs... a strange balance. I lie on my side, I turn... I'm constantly crooked. I look at myself and think: 'Is this... is this me? Is this really my body?'
The mirror catches my attention again. I slowly approach it. Blonde hair, blue eyes… is this me? But the body… why is it so weak, why do I constantly have to sleep, why do I look so strange?
Every movement, every twitch is a struggle. But there is still curiosity inside me. I still feel, I still learn… but this body… it's very strange, very odd.