07 · GENETICS — Origin

I looked into the mirror. I thought I was seeing myself. Then I began seeing something else. My father. My grandfather. Their silences. Their stubbornness. Their fears. Their discipline. But I made a mistake. I did not spend enough time looking for my mother. The woman who brought me into the world. I searched for her only in my face.

Genetics is a library without shelves. An archive written into flesh. Every gesture contains traces. Every reaction preserves a memory.

We carry battles we never fought. Fears we never learned. Strengths whose origins we cannot explain.

We are never an absolute beginning. We are continuity. We are the next chapter in a story much larger than our name.

Then I understood something. The most important inheritance was not written in facial features. Not in the eyes. Not in the shape of the face. It was written in actions. In that quiet way of facing difficulties. In the ability to endure without making noise.

And there, at last, I began to see my mother. Not in the mirror. But every time I chose not to surrender without announcing it to the world.