stories in a star

"Some of the stars you'll see out there don't exist anymore," said my father, gently turning the knobs of the telescope with his thumb. The gears squeaked softly. "Some of the stars you'll see have been dead for thousands of years already." 

"What you'll see with this telescope are not the stars as they are today but how they were thousands of years ago," he went on. "That's how far away they are; even the light takes centuries to reach us."

I liked the idea, how the past could be preserved, fossilized, in the stars. I wanted to think that somewhere on the other end of time, a hundred light-years from then, someone else, some distant future creature, might be looking back at the preserved image of me and my father at that very moment in my bedroom.

- Julia /The Age of Miracles / Karen Thompson Walker

I love stars. They are one of the most wonderful creatures ever created. Every night, I look outside my window into the sky to see if the stars have already appeared. And as I gaze upon them, all I'm left with is a deep sigh... awestruck with its magnificent beauty. 

I've heard it long ago - that some stars have been dead for such a long time and what we see is only just an evidence, like footprints,  that they have existed once upon a time. But after numerous times of repetition, I still find myself amazed with the idea that stars can, in some bizarre way, preserve the past. 

I was at a camp last month and I was blessed with the pleasure of seeing millions of visible stars, after what seemed like eons. Sadly though, the gadget I had did not have enough power to capture it clearly. So I took my own kind of weapons to remind me of that beautiful moment... 

There were so many stars that night. As I stared at each one of them, standing in the middle of numerous trees in the darkness, I thought about the people who died years ago who had gazed at the very same stars that I was staring at in that very precise moment. I thought about what those stars meant to them, about what those tiny, sparkling dots had made them feel, about what and how many wishes they had whispered to every star, about the story behind their stargazing. 

As I stared at each star, it occurred to me that I wasn't just staring at some cosmic matter but also, staring back at the millions of wishes and stories from the past. And I realized that somewhere on the other end of time, a hundred light-years from then, someone else, some distant future creature, might be looking back at the preserved image of a girl, who stood alone in the middle of numerous trees in the darkness, stuck in amazement of the stars. 

I am just another story in a star.