A childhood memory:
I am at my auntie’s place. It is night. And it is dark in the room, except for one strong lamp. Shining light on one side of my face. When I close my eyes I can still feel the warmth of it. Behind me a big piece of paper, pasted on the wall. With a pencil my auntie draws up the contour of my face, tracing my shadow that appears on the paper. When she is done, I may leave the chair I was sitting on. And I look at the contour of my own head. I found it magical that such a 'simple' line could be so recognizable as myself. The contour of my-self.

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