By the time we become aware, we are already in this world, living. We are alive, but no one remembers when it all began. When you think about it, it seems like a pretty incredible thing.
The day before my first daughter was born, I was so worried I couldn't sleep. How could I really be a father when I was so immature? Would I be able to raise her properly? What could I do for her?
The next day, when I saw my wife's face after the birth and my daughter's face with her eyes still not yet open, I cried. The tension that had been building up until then must have finally eased. At that moment, I finally realized what I had always wanted. All I wanted was for my wife and daughter to be safe.
I'm sure my parents must have felt the same way when I was born. But I don't remember. The first piece of me has been lost. But with the birth of my own child, I think I was finally able to fill that void. Maybe we are born to live while losing a part of ourselves.