Every night before I turn over to my right side and pull my blankets over my shoulder, I look out my apartment window at the night sky. I don’t know why I do it, but I have to before I fall asleep, or else it feels like I forgot an intrinsic part of my day. I’ve always had a deep fascination with the moon and stars. There’s something about the sparkling light shining from the stars, so close yet so distant, that has always had a hold on me.
My first memory of this admiration was when I was seven or eight years old in Bend, Oregon. I went with my dad’s side of the family every summer of my childhood. Bend is a quaint town (it’s practically a desert), but it’s near Sunriver: a town for all things biking. Since the area is surrounded by Mt. Bachelor, people with a love for skiing typically populate the town in the winter, but in the summer, it’s filled with a much quieter, peaceful crowd. Where we stayed, there were no city lights for miles, and at night, it was quiet; stillness surrounded you and the only thing you could hear was the chirp of the crickets and voices coming from inside. I could see the night sky so clearly.Â
My mom, being a science teacher, knew the constellations by heart and would point them out to me. My favorite was always Cassiopeia, which forms a “W” for half of the year and an “M” for the other half. She’d tell me stories about how Cassiopeia was the boastful queen of Ethiopia and that Poseidon, the God of the Sea, placed her in the sky to rotate the celestial pole for eternity and spend half of the year upside down as her punishment.Â
I found the myth behind her so magical that I wanted to learn more about the constellations and myths that accompanied them. My mom told me about Andromeda, the Big and Little Dipper, Orion, and many others whose names are escaping me.Â
I was so drawn to Cassiopeia that for the space unit in my second-grade class, I chose Cassiopeia as my constellation to research. The stars in the night sky in Bend were truly phenomenal; they appeared so close as if I could almost touch them. I think this was the first moment my complete wonderment by these lights in the sky was established.
Ever since then, everywhere I go, once night time approaches, I have to look up at the sky. Sometimes, the stars are covered by the clouds and sometimes they appear far away, but other times, when you’re lucky, they light up the sky like millions of tiny light bulbs illuminating the lives of those beneath them. I think something is comforting about the night sky, no matter where you are or how far you’ve gone from home, it’ll always be there to greet you like an old friend.Â
The thing I find most fascinating about the stars is how the light we see is light from tens of thousands of years ago. Generations and generations of people who’ve lived on Earth have seen and experienced the same stars as those living now. It unites the whole of humanity — past and present. Looking up at the night sky and being in awe of the stars and moon is a universal experience, and has been since the beginning of our existence, connecting us all as one. I don’t know, but there’s something comforting in looking up at the sky and knowing that those who are no longer with us have seen the same sky.Â
I’m still unsure exactly why I’m compelled to look out of my window every night. Maybe it allows me to connect to those who’ve passed on. Or perhaps I do it because I know that no matter how far from home I may be, I’m looking at the same night sky as my mom, who taught me about constellations. I started this ritual once I moved two states away from my home, and the innate feeling of homesickness kicked in. Every night, this moment is one I can take for myself to think about all those who’ve been part of my life. I know they’ll always be with me, even if not physically, just like the sparkling elements of the night sky.