I used to love the stars

I always looked at the sky when I was a kid. I thought stars and constellations were so cool—they help you understand where you are in the world.

I used to know the positions of the 88 constellations. Wait, that might be exaggerated—maybe at least 70 of them. I knew the significant stars in the sky. Even their absolute and apparent magnitudes. Even the nebulae and star clusters which naked eye can see only during cloudless new moons away from the city. Even the Greek and Roman mythology behind their shapes and positions. Even how they can tell the seasons. The solar, lunar and galactic equators. How to tell a planet from a star. Which planets and stars are visible when. Everything.

Until I stopped being a child.

I engaged in a lot of extracurricular activities. I believed that nothing can be gained from being a meek regimented girl just going by the book. There was no growth. I had to start a revolution, because I hated being sheltered.

A lot of people has put their bets on me, always. I was always an ace, representing the school, city, division, and region. It was hard to deal with—wanting to be looked up to. But I was raised in a competitive system, so it became a habit which I cannot abandon. I thought, since it has come to this, why not push my limits and make the most out of everything.

I stopped seeing night stars and began to chase real stars instead.

I wanted real stars—big, scorching, radiant. Not tiny dots in the sky formed millions or billions of years ago. I wanted real stars. I wanted to become a star.

I started roaming around people I want to be like. I became more aggressive in joining competitions. I met a lot of people from different provinces, observed most of them, spoke to some of them, befriended a few. I began traveling to faraway places to gain concrete freedom. I worked for far-fetched dreams. I wanted to be amazing.

I became so preoccupied with the stars I was chasing. Even when I fell out of the Latin honor line, I still had a lot of plans in my life. My world was so consumed by my desires to become outstanding and relevant—I worked hard day and night and weekends and holidays to chase my stars.

I always walked the streets at night. But, it almost never crossed my mind to look up the sky and see the stars.

The night used to mean stargazing time. But it came to a point when the night started to mean that another day has been finished but I still failed to accomplish my goals. Nights used to be fun, cool and peaceful. They became filled with sadness and fatigue, and refuge so I could cry my heart out.

And as I review my life now that I have become an adult, I cannot seem to understand some decisions I made in the past.

I wonder, is where I am worth giving up my other dreams? Did I benefit from my present endeavors more than they cost me?

If these things were great, why am I so tired? Why do I feel a fatigue that outweighs the reasons why I am chasing these great things in the first place?

If my decisions were correct, why am I still dissatisfied and empty?

Have I been chasing false stars after all?

No. The problem is not about what stars I chased, but the stars I forgot.

I wanted to become relevant in terms of the society's standards. I should do this, I must do that, I have to achieve this thing at this age—because those are what makes a person "successful".

But, why have I been using the society's standards, and not my own?

No wonder why I reached a point when I am now questioning if those medals and certificates I have accumulated over the years really mean anything. That was how I was raised—that I need to gain something tangible, otherwise it did not happen. If all there is to gain are friends or opinions of an honorable speaker, no bacon to bring home, an event is not worth attending to.

I was taking pride on the medals and certificates I accumulated over the years. I used to believe that they are concrete pieces of evidence of my hardwork, despite knowing that anyone can buy a medal for PHP 30 from a bookstore and print a certificate with trivial cost. A trophy is more costly, though (haha).

At some point, I started to see that, no matter how much I won, I am still a failure—because I failed to see what is important.

Of course, they taught me a lot. I gained a lot of things from those experiences—patience, knowledge, strategy, discipline, sense of justice, endurance, combat, sportsmanship, friends and acquaintances, ability to retaliate with grace.

I actually knew this for the longest time, but just ignored or never entertained the thought. You really learn big-time through the hard ways.

My dissatisfaction in life comes not from chasing stars, but from failing to see the stars I already have in me.

And, they are not even mutually exclusive. Anyone can chase running stars and hone existing stars at the same time without giving up one. Why did I have to choose only one of them, I wonder.

I want to move forward and regain the stars I forgot. They are inside me, but I need to awaken them. Acknowledging the society's expectations and merging with my ideals—I want to create a version of me which pleases me the most. I need to do something before I regret it on my deathbed.

Under the vast sky, I may be insignificant. In the society, I may be insignificant. But inside me, I am the most important person. I should never forget that. Never lose myself in the process of chasing the stars.

Looking at the stars is looking at the past. Light from a star reaches us far too delayed even if it is traveling at speed of light, the fastest known thing. Even if they die, their waves remain, traveling to distances never been reached before. I want to become like that—leaving permanent, or at least lasting, marks.

And just how stars radiate their past, I am who I am because of the lessons I learned. Not because of the materials I got. I am a product of my experiences. I do not need validation from others.

I am a star.

You, too.