I have always found it somewhat discomforting that memory of my childhood is so cavalier, so vague, that all ability for recollection is paces backward to such an extent. The earliest of any memory, which I can not so much remember but rather revive, gracefully resurrects itself by intense moments of inspiring awe. It is a memento that is able to cheat theft, residue which nourished an infant infatuation to fidelity.

I was in elementary school, cradling my head while I lying on my neighbor’s trampoline. My neighbor’s mother typically made snacks during my stay which sang of her Italian heritage. This time, I resisted, and instead embraced the null silence of solitude outside. I felt then as if I was beginning to unravel. I was captivated between the brittle, char buffed, welkin as its longed to be beside ground, forever caressing the Earth. The wind delicately curled against elder leaves, wearily parting each blade of grass then only to be found victim to drift’s levity. The air courted with the aroma gave by the citrus trees, thus ripening the presence. All beside me was the scent as well as a breeze’s own familiar, faint howl. Nature has never been so sympathetic to me.

My idea of selfdom dismantled as my eyelids slowly unhinged my lash, and there they gaze. All stars dissolved into a dilute, milky hammock, which brushed upon the night’s grim canvas so eloquently that it gave the moon no fair margin for dignity. My toes curled as I lie, basking underneath the majestic, stellar bellows, my sentiment purring like a well overfed cat. I felt liberated, suspended in black, velvet twirls of sky. I was an omniscient observer, lost by still captivated by the eternal harmony between the Earth, atmosphere, and the cosmos’ vast womb of nothingness. It was a moment in which I felt intertwined, melted into the fabric of a celestial altitude. The sight thus processed into questions which reverberate against my skull, then clustered into parched corridors of inquiry. Questions of origins and purpose became my daily night’s lullaby. To describe such a feeling is as sketching something multidimensional, it could not be as precise or hold an entity to an experience so definite. The experience gave me a sense of direction and unity, which dawned upon me during the darkest hours of day.

The memory has since offered a palette of uncharted discovery that feeds an unforgiving curiosity. It lent me an optimistic perspective of how unrestricted life really is and how truly astounding it is to not just witness it, but actually being apart of it. I now understand the certain romanticism of man’s obsession with nature that has guided his motivation and knowledge throughout our species history. At times, I find myself overwhelmed with excitement by how sincerely beautiful everything is. How the universe and all it may hold came together so ornately, so incredibly, and still serves its underlying, functional purpose. Then I realize that nothing is finished, that life is constantly evolving, that it may be unrecognizable in the next century, or, perhaps, sooner. To me, it is pursuit worth observing. It is a motive which gives a form of value blind to cushy trinkets or that any means of compensation could justify. Without a motive, time seems meaningless, momentum seems redundant, a stale perspective settles with absence of substance. My pursuit is to enrich my understanding of what lay beyond our gentle, blue yonder. Lavish abundance is not necessary, whereas, the stars are my chandelier.

My recognition of the stars has become the most defining moment in my overall transition to sovereignty. A ceaseless quest of defining the unknown and understanding of our place in the universe permeates throughout history, blurring confinements of cultural boundaries. It is an awareness that unveils the ignorance of conflict between egos and humbly exposes mankind’s insignificance of political stance within the universe. The memory has since cultivated itself in my daily thought and has become a perpetuating gear, an obsession, and ultimately, a portion of my character. Rest seems now undistinguishable, for I am always admiring, ritually dreaming, eternally cursed by curiosity.