The world seemed to open wide as I stood at the edge of the cliff, the wind pulling at me like an invisible hand. Below, the valley spread out in layered rice terraces that cascaded down the mountain, each step carved by generations of hands, each line a mark of time itself. In the distance, a single tall tree rose above the landscape, standing alone yet commanding the view, its silhouette cutting across the horizon. As I looked out, the past, present, and future seemed to blur—each terrace, each breath of wind, each bend of the earth spoke to a different time, yet they were all here, in this moment. The terraces, shaped by history, held the weight of the past, but they also carried the promise of tomorrow’s harvest. The tree, steady and strong, stood as a reminder of endurance. In that quiet, I realized that life moves forward, always building on what came before. I could feel it—my path ahead, bold and unapologetic, rooted in the strength of what I had been through and what I would become.