The aspiration of a shooting star

  My childhood was like a cadence, filled with the bases and the trebles. A memorable moment in the ocean of memories was the time when I was marking my height on the door frame during my birthday. 

2000 – 115 cm 

2001 – 117 cm 

2002 – 120 cm 

2003 – 124.5 cm  

  Through the lens of an eight-year old’s eye, it felt possible to be an astronaut, delving into the milky way galaxies, or an archaeologist, discovering the ancient bones of mighty creatures who once roamed the earth. 

“Oh, how much you’ve grown this year! You’ll definitely be old enough to drive a car soon, and then a space ship in the future!” 

“Oh! An astronaut for Halloween? Adorable.”  

  I would stand with my bare toes so I could appear to be higher, thinking that way I would look more grown up instead of always being patted on the head as if I was underestimated. I’d pout and scowl in ire but the next minute I’d be back smiling in my room with bright pink walls. I was blinded by the colourful furs and exquisite patterns, unaware of the muffled screams coming from downstairs during a Saturday night.  

  The elegant ballerina was pirouetting in spirals as if revolving around the beautiful planets. The tranquil music swirled around the room, deafening the shouts of a broken relationship. Yes, a ballerina, wouldn't it be nice to feel the freedom of a swam as the music acted as a barrier, protecting me from all the worries. My body in sync with the melody. The stage can be a world meant for me. I can be the next Alicia Markova. 

  Why were they so supportive back then, but yet diminished my dreams during my teen years? 

“You want to dance? Dancers don’t earn much, how about a math professor...” 

“You must look at reality, my dear. Be more realistic...” 

  Yes, now I understood why it’s unattainable. They were just empty and hopeless dreams, just for me to escape from reality, for me to abandon my problems when I am in daydreams about expensive closets filled with luxurious clothes and an opulent mansion. 

It felt better to be a statue, embracing the pounding rain drops and the fierce sunlight with a fixed smile, not understanding despair. The flawlessly carved face stared at me with a warm expression when it’s stone cold. Was it all a mistake? What do I do now, with a degree certificate in hand, in front of all the flashing lights, not knowing what to do next. There wasn’t even a dilemma, I was lost in the mist, unconsciously shaking and hugging everyone. Smile, just smile. I still have time to think. 

“You all can change the world, now that you’ve graduated.” 

  That was what they all say. They were ugly truths disguised as beautiful lies. My head hit the pillow that night with a loud thump, the world was dark, just me, myself and I on this soft wonderland.  

  And then rays of sunshine stung and pricked me, urging it’s time to get up. But then the moonlight was pouring in again. I’ll do something tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. For what purpose? Maybe for the upcoming graduation parties, hiding under layers of makeup, I wonder if they also have sad eyes on happy faces. Or am I the only one who got lost in the world of idolising plastics and absorbed in a virtual reality. I should really be doing something productive. 

  January, February, May, June. 

  The adults around me made me felt like a helpless, weak and vulnerable creature. No wait, I’m already an adult. It was so obvious but the acknowledgement stabbed me in the heart like the broken shards from the framed picture-perfect family. I could already imagine the bills and the anxiousness that I’m going to die owing instead of knowing. 

  There was a day when the wind howled like an unleashed beast and the thunder shook the earth violently. I stared at the melancholic raindrops racing down the car window, which one will win? The one I chose lost anyways, the world does not revolve around me and I do not revolve around it too.  

  The lilt of the wind went on as I ate cold instant noodles. It has been 65 days, why am I still jobless, why can’t I succeed during a young age like all those people on TV. I knew I was wasting my youth, I couldn't bear the thought of my hair going from the colour of autumn leaves to a bitter cold winter. 

“You are worrying too much. You still have TIME.” 

  Nobody wanted to hire me, after a failed interview I’d just saunter down the road to calm myself. But then my pace would quicken after thinking about my failures, I needed money if I wanted to pursue a PhD. I missed those days where I wasn’t so insecure about everything. Every time I was exposed in public, it felt as if there was going to be pairs of eyes observing my flaws and silently judging them in the menacing shadows. My fragile ego and flesh. 

  I was staring at the door frame, each marked line had such a complex backstory to it, because each year I was growing both mentally and physically. The old telescope laid beside me, covered it old stickers of smiling stars and planets, there was even a vestige of glitter left from the passing years. It was time to go stargazing again.  

  January 10, I knew there was a full moon, outshining the luminous misplaced constellations as they blinked against the black sky. The stars bought a sense of purity to the world. Several curls escaped from my tied hair as the cool breeze sang its coronach because soon, through the lens of the telescope, I saw the downfall of a shooting star.  

“You know darling, there’s still a job at your uncle’s. He still needs an extra pair of hands at the cashier table. You can work there temporarily.” 

  A shooting star also took time to grow. It was once a particle floating calmly in the immense space, but fate wanted it to enter the atmosphere, heated by the friction of air particles to ignite the night and outshine the stars. It captivates everyone, but meets a tragic death as it heats the ground and creates a crater. The meteor remains valuable, even after it became monotonous. 

  It made me think about the people like Emily Dickinson, who was another unknown and forgettable woman ebbing and flowing with the crowd. But in modern days, after her death, she was part of the heart of literature and poetry, her phrases and wording struck readers in awe. By the endpoint of Nikola Tesla’s life, he died penniless in a New York City hotel room, but his inventions are now greatly seen as an important contribution to modern technology. 

It was never too late. 

  Even though these people did not have the chance to witness the growth of their popularity, their success, the respect they’ve received, they had still influenced the world. A tiny meteor was capable of bringing information about the solar system, the history and its possible future.  It was a dull and ugly truth, but luminary. 

  I am not capable of prophecy, but the thought of making even the smallest impact on the busy world that was whirling in the cycle of day and night, gave me the glimmer of aspiration I needed. I had wished I’ve realised this longer ago, but isn’t this what growth is all about? Our subconscious catches each tiny detail in our life without our notice, even if we were lazily strolling in a park, feeling unproductive and unmotivated, we were still learning. Oh look, I never realised the local ice cream stand added a new flavour. Oh hey, the neighbours' children were out playing again, which means their finals must be over. And what about that stray dog who was now adopted into a loving and caring family. 

2016 – 168 cm (with a smiley face shooting star) 

  The next day I went to the research centre again, ready and confident with that interview. Redemptive failures coloured my life, more strokes from a brush, more series of lines from a pencil, the growth of an imperfect painting called living.