I am unique. No one is, will be, or ever has been me. Yet I share my genetic baggage with the rest of humanity. The gene lottery can come up with billions and billions of unique combinations, and has done so since the first man and the first woman. Life patches us together out of recycled material, probably dust from the stars. Human beings dovetail, and I’m probably made from bits of everything else. There’s no use searching for real mothers or real fathers, my lineage disappears into the great infinitude. Is it not enough that I have been given life itself? We are neither pure nor impure. We’re the offspring of all of humanity that has preceded us, and we are the ancestors of all humanity to come.

ENTER!