Like a Dandelion In my childhood, the yard in front of our house was always scattered with dandelion seeds. As I walked, I sometimes stepped on them without thought, and when I found fuller clusters, I would take a deep breath and blow them into the air— a small game. This light ascent and dispersal brought a quiet joy, carried by my breath. Looking back now, I realize that within that lightness and near-fragile state were emotions I did not yet know. A condition of being held yet always capable of separation, a moment of holding while knowing one day you must let go. The dandelion seed adopts lightness, disconnection, and movement as strategies for survival. Its structure, scattered even by the wind, resembles the human heart— longing to hold on to what is precious, yet ultimately bound to release it. The ontological symbols composed of fragility, softness, transition, and lightness, embodied by the seed, are extended in this work. Translated into the form of a human body at rest, they form a landscape where the vulnerability of existence is revealed.