I have no memory of when I was a baby. The first memories I had were probably when I was 4. But I could be wrong – the mind in its infancy struggles to retain experience. I think I fell down, because I was running too quickly and absent-mindedly with a new light-saber toy my parents had just bought me. I fell down and hit my knee, and a scar remains as a sole vestige. But back to the point I would like to talk about. As a baby, I don’t remember anything; I don’t remember feeling pain, or discomfort, for which I must have wailed on and on. Those wails were borne completely of instinct. I wasn’t quite a thinking being just yet; I was just an animal with barely a semblance of memory. Might it as well be then, that that baby was not me? Since I have no memory of ever being him, although my parents will tell me plainly that I was, and since all that matters is what I experience, then it could be that I am a wholly different person now. That baby was not me; I became me only at 4 years-old.
This brings me to another question: At what stage does life truly begin? Does it begin when you are able to experience the world and form memories of your own? Or does it begin at the moment a sperm fuses with the egg? Or maybe even before that? I think I already have an answer in my head.