Some childhoods whisper. Others scream in silence. Mine vibrated like a string pulled too tight.

I was born with a heart without skin. Every emotion passed through me like a cold wave. Every atmosphere carved me. Every silence spoke to me.

In our home, there was the shadow of my father — a heavy, fragile, trembling shadow. I wanted to hold it, mend it, save it. I built myself around this impossible mission, like a child who believes love can glue back the pieces of a wounded soul.

But love cannot heal what refuses to look at itself.

So I grew up with this hypersensitivity as a broken compass: pointing everywhere, all at once. I felt a thousand lives inside one chest.

Then one day, life tore me away from all my roles. It left me bare, without masks, without direction. And in that nakedness, I heard a call — an ancient, soft, stubborn call.

It led me far: into inner temples, into silent retreats, into nights where you dissolve, into mornings where you are reborn.

There, in a center suspended between mountains and sky, I understood: the light had never left me. It was simply waiting for me to stop running from myself.

This first chapter is a doorway — an entrance into the sacred territory where we finally meet who we truly are.