You feel a strong compulsion to "go in search of your ancestral home," whatever that means. Well, it's not like you have anything better to do with your time. You take a look at yourself to figure out how you might move about in the vacuum of space. Oh. Maybe those would help.
You find it strange that you never noticed your legs have been rockets this whole time.
Closing your eyes, you rely on your sixteenth sense to pinpoint the gamma bursts from your home in Aldebaran Sector Epsilon-5. You fondly recall sweet memories of blazing hot summers under the red giant sun, which slowly turned into blazing hot winters under the red giant sun. Life was good then.
You vaguely recall through your amnesiac haze that you were sent on some mission, which was finally completed after years of effort. Now would be a good time to return and report, the voice in your head suggests. But Aldebaran was at least fifty light-years away...