Someone
once told me that we are made of stars.
In theory, everything inside us originates from cosmic
explosions that occurred billions of years ago. Imagine – our bodies
constructed from matter that existed before our earth was even a speck.
Deep inside, we hold atoms fused by cosmic dust, the
remnants of galaxies long since dispersed into the vacuum. And these galaxies,
these stars that we hold within us, they must have seen some things. The birth
of solar systems, the decay of planets. The formation of life, our first steps.
You could call them curators of the universe’s history.
Now, I don’t know if I am made of stars. Maybe I’m a
pawn placed here by a higher power, my purpose on this earth unclear until I
seek it. Perhaps I am simply the result of evolution, another notch on the belt
of humankind. I could be here again, or just an accident of fate.
But do I think I hold a universe within me?
We are the sum of our experiences and our life, our
memories, our actions, they form a system of complex planets that make us who
we are.
Did you know that the stars we see in the night sky are actually long extinguished? Light
travels fast but the cosmos is so far from our naked eye, it can take years for
the light to reach us.
We have constellations in the freckles that stamp our
skin and we fall and we shed matter just as the stars do. We have the
capability to be a source of light in the
darkness, to leave a mark, to scar this universe with our brightness.
Because even as a star fades, it is never truly removed from existence. It
exists always, a flicker in the hearts of those who once looked up in wonder.
I don’t know if I am made of stars. But am I a
universe?
