Seven years ago, my parents got these stars stuck on the ceiling of my bedroom. They were stickers that fed on light during the day and reflected the same at night, when it got pitch dark.
Every night, as I lie down to sleep off another night after another day gone by, I have looked up and told myself just one thing: they are not real. They stay there, still and unmoved. They do not have their own light to give out. What they have now will slowly exhaust within a few hours. I would think that much and then, look at one particular star intensely, trying hard to imagine it was a real one and that i was sleeping right under the sky, with no cement, iron and bricks between me and the universe. Countless times, I have dozed off holding onto that very thought.
But tonight, I look at them again and I realize that I know better right now. I know that, if I really did sleep under the real starry sky, the stars I would see could be older than seven years.
The Universe, by the time it reached the tiny pupils of my eyes, was already several months, years, decades and even millennia old.
And then I look at those on my dear old ceiling. Seven years, and they have been just here, exactly here, not moved an inch, not got for themselves to own, even a sliver of the light they now radiate.
And then I ask myself the question. It is the only question I have ever learnt to ask. The only question to which I have never got a satisfactory answer. The only question that anyone my age will ask.
What's the point?
What is the point of knowing all this? What is the point of thinking all this? Where am I going with it and what do I want to prove with all this?
The surprise of the night, and the sole reason, it got me to get up and take my pen after days is that, I got an answer. I got my Answer.
There is no point. There is no point knowing so much, knowing the right and wrong, fair and unfair, real and unreal.. Truth be told, I need only to live it out. I need to only look at that starry ceiling and enjoy the fact I have stars of my own for all these years, and also like the fact that there are real stars somewhere out there and that they are beautiful, but still unreal.
The motive of it all is not to know it... it is to Live..
Every night, as I lie down to sleep off another night after another day gone by, I have looked up and told myself just one thing: they are not real. They stay there, still and unmoved. They do not have their own light to give out. What they have now will slowly exhaust within a few hours. I would think that much and then, look at one particular star intensely, trying hard to imagine it was a real one and that i was sleeping right under the sky, with no cement, iron and bricks between me and the universe. Countless times, I have dozed off holding onto that very thought.
But tonight, I look at them again and I realize that I know better right now. I know that, if I really did sleep under the real starry sky, the stars I would see could be older than seven years.
The Universe, by the time it reached the tiny pupils of my eyes, was already several months, years, decades and even millennia old.
And then I look at those on my dear old ceiling. Seven years, and they have been just here, exactly here, not moved an inch, not got for themselves to own, even a sliver of the light they now radiate.
And then I ask myself the question. It is the only question I have ever learnt to ask. The only question to which I have never got a satisfactory answer. The only question that anyone my age will ask.
What's the point?
What is the point of knowing all this? What is the point of thinking all this? Where am I going with it and what do I want to prove with all this?
The surprise of the night, and the sole reason, it got me to get up and take my pen after days is that, I got an answer. I got my Answer.
There is no point. There is no point knowing so much, knowing the right and wrong, fair and unfair, real and unreal.. Truth be told, I need only to live it out. I need to only look at that starry ceiling and enjoy the fact I have stars of my own for all these years, and also like the fact that there are real stars somewhere out there and that they are beautiful, but still unreal.
The motive of it all is not to know it... it is to Live..
