I dream of my final moments beneath the stars, far away from the noise and the bustle of life
on Earth. Up there, it’s just me and the universe—no people, no birds, not even a blue sky.
Just endless space, a cosmic silence filled only with the faint hum of the universe’s secrets.
There’s something profoundly serene about the thought. No envy, no worldly concerns, just
the blue planet shrinking in the distance as I soar away. I yearn for that moment, the one I’ve
been waiting for my entire life—the countdown. T-minus 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… and
liftoff!
The engines roar, the thrust pushes me back into my seat, the G-forces build, and the
acceleration kicks in. It’s everything I’ve ever cherished, the sensations I’ve only imagined. I
know that in that moment, I’ll be happier than I’ve ever been.
Sure, there might be a blackout or two along the way, but that’s just part of the journey, right?
I can almost smell the metallic tang of space, feel the cold vacuum on my skin. My heart will
race as I glance back at Earth, my old home, and say my final goodbye. I don’t want to
return. I want to spend my days with my true companions—the stars, the planets, the
nebulae, the black holes. They are my kin.
I’m not saying I’m a star, a cluster, or a planet, but I am a part of them. After all, where else
did the precious metallic and non-metallic particles that make up my body come from? We
are all starstuff, as Carl Sagan so beautifully put it. So why do we discriminate, why do we
judge others by their appearance or their origin? It’s pointless. Instead, I prefer to focus on
my new life among the stars. Maybe some of the particles in my body came from a black
hole—imagine that! A black hole that lived a glorious life, and now I carry a piece of it within
me.
They are all mine, especially Polaris, the North Star. Vega may take its place eventually, but
by then, I’ll be long gone, part of the cosmos once more. I can feel a slight pain and a beep
inside my head, but I’ll happily ignore it. I remember the day I promised the moon, “I will
come for you.” I was just seven years old, and from that moment, I knew I wanted to be an
astronaut. No one told me to follow this path—not my family, not my teachers. It was a love
for astronomy that was always within me, even though I never had the resources to learn as
much as I wanted.
Now, I have books and sources of knowledge, but time is slipping away. When I realized how
much time I had lost, I cried as if my heart would break. But even in my despair, there is a
glimmer of hope—a tiny spark that keeps me going. That countdown, T-minus 10, 9, 8, 7, 6,
5, 4, 3, 2, 1… I can feel it, deep in my soul. Space, I’m coming for you. Don’t worry—I belong
to you.
Once a star, always a star!
By: Jarin Tasnim Prome
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