There is a private cartography to every life, and mine began with a handful of signs and figures. They arrived long before I understood that meaning often whispers before it declares itself. Over the years, these symbols glazed themselves onto the surface of my life, forming a mythology that felt both discovered and inherited. Some appeared at the turning points, like invitations to step forward. Others surfaced from within, echoing my inner shifts with a tenderness that felt like heavenly friends. A few were given to me at birth by fate’s fingerprints. Others came later, in the moments where I cracked something open. Together they became teachers in their own quiet way. Not prophets, not omens, but puzzle pieces. Modest and luminous, these symbols of transformation guided me toward my own becoming.