Stars

In Spain, the night sky is a theater show. It effortlessly scatters sparks, putting on a performance of the vastness of space. But here, in Singapore, the night sky doesn’t compare; it plays a different show, the kind that's overly-acted. Towering structures mimic the shimmering lights, their artificial gleam reaching upward. Rehearsed drone shows glide through the sky, falsely replicating the cozy feeling of laying with a blanket under the stars. Nothing will truly replace nature's starry nights.

Memories of building a small fire in our backyard are forever etched in my mind. My Dad, an ex-boy scout, would ‘help’ us build the fire. We’d collect flimsy branches, and he’d end up with ash caked on his hands. My sisters and I would hurry off at the initial sparks and steam, simultaneously awed and terrified by its energies. Still, we’d quickly run back, drawn by the promise of roasted marshmallows and stories of the stars above.

While we roasted marshmallows (or set them alight, which is how we preferred them), Dad, the at home astronomer, would point out the constellations.

 “There’s the one that looks like a frying pan,” he’d say, guiding our hands up to see it, “and then its baby right over there.” 

Little did I know then that he was referring to Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. Evidently, their proper names never quite stuck with me, but the comfort of those memories certainly did. That feeling has remained a constant delight. 

Each shining star, which seemed just a hand’s reach away, sparked wonders in my mind. When my teeth still wiggled, I imagined the stars glued onto a bubble surrounding our earth, just like the glow-in-the-dark ones stuck above my bed. In my heart, I held onto the faith that somehow, someday, when I grew taller and smarter, I’d find a way to pluck a star from the sky. I awaited a day where my dream of innocence and ambition became a reality. 

It wasn’t until years later that I realized the true scale of what I was seeing on those nights. Each glimmer slowly moved further and further away. The nearest star to our sun, Proxima Centauri, is over 4 light years away, a distance so far that I can’t begin to comprehend it. The realization adds a bittersweet layer onto my memories. I’d sit in awe at the beauty above us, knowing that these stars had traveled for centuries before reaching my eyes. This vastness reminded me of the improbability of my existence. Each star was a reminder of the slim chances of these moments. 

Now, sitting at my desk in Singapore, I nestle a warm cup of tea in my hands; I let the soft, warm steam graze my forehead, a comforting sensation that reminds me of those campfire nights. The mug was a gift from Dad a few Christmases ago, one that eight-year-old me didn’t quite appreciate. Yet, today, that same mug is a moment for me to reflect. On its exterior, it seems like an ordinary black mug; however, it shifts into a sketch of the constellations when filled with boiling liquid. Each morning, I spark its transformation with hot tea. The two rely on each other—the mug needs heat to reveal its hidden art, just like how bonds strengthen through shared experiences. Like those bonds, the stars always remind me of the connections I have to Spain and my family. It's a delight to think back to the privilege I had to experience the rawness of our world and people. 

Singapore brings it to me in a different way: diverse people, inspiring architecture, magnificent forests, and spicy food. While I may never accept Singapore’s artificial attempts to replicate my dreams, I’ve come to appreciate the community's wish to cradle a shooting star— a collective hope and ambition. In a way, the desire to try and hold onto a fleeting star reflects our wish to grasp rare moments, even if just for a swift second.

Although I’ve now accepted the immensity of our galaxy, the pursuit itself of wishing to touch something higher binds us together. A communal longing and a collective ambition create a sense of comfort for me. I find delight in the simplicity of shared aspirations, much like that cozy feeling of lying with a warm blanket under the stars.