Just Another Star in the Sky

I had submerged myself in the dark but translucent, salty sea in the foolish hope of finding something I had long ago poured my heart into. Something I had long ago destroyed and thoughtlessly flung into the insatiable jaws of the ravenous ocean. Something that was possibly buried beneath the seafloor, lost, forgotten, and terribly neglected. My own little work of art. 

My mother had contemptuously laughed at it and reminded me: “Oh, Mahina. You won’t get anywhere writing poetry!”. Red, my sister, regarded it with mild distaste while saying that it was written beautifully. A supporting response, really. And my father didn’t even glance at my craft, saying it was because he didn’t particularly enjoy reading poetry. I had gotten the message. Accepted the rejection. Watched my sister effortlessly impress our parents with just her charisma. I tried, with such an effort, to shine as bright as Red. Because who wouldn’t want to be Red? Who wouldn’t want to be the Sun?

She had brutally torn herself apart, bit by bit...

Now, emerging from the moon-lit sea, icy waves biting at my bare ankles as my feet directed me towards the foreshore, I thought back to it. That moment I had viciously shredded my soul and hurled it into the raging pit of fire inside of me. When I stripped myself of my identity and plunged into a more upgraded persona out of downright shame.

I occasionally imagine my family as a solar system. Red would be the Sun that everyone looks up to, and I am Pluto. A planet separated from the rest, not really belonging. I am an outcast. When I say that I plunged into a more upgraded persona, I mean I pretended that I was my beloved sister. I, Pluto, pretending that I too was a star. How humorous. What a ridiculous, senseless thing to do, trying to act like dazzling, perfect Red. Trying to mirror the blindingly beaming Sun. 

Then, had painstakingly collected the incinerated ashes of her soul...

Delicate sand gave way under the heels of my feet, and the crystal-clear water licked at the shoreline. The small waves that crashed against the surface of the beach ebbed away, barely brushing my toes and leaving a trail of dissipating foam behind. The seawater was black compared to the white, powdery sands. Looking out at the dimly lit water, I found the Moon’s trembling reflection in the wavering ocean. And then my eyes snagged on my own flickering form, hair fluttering behind me as the soft breeze wove its gentle fingers through my long, salty hair. 

Shivering, I folded my arms around myself as a sort of blanket that protected me against the chilly night winds and sat where the waves could still tickle my toes. Listening to the roaring crashes of the billows, I let my eyes roam the shimmering night sky. 

Don’t you think it’s unfair how, when the Sun is out, you cannot see the other stars in the sky because of the bold brightness the Sun produces? How the only star you can spot up in the sky is the glaring Sun? But when the Sun finally dips down into the horizon, the rest of its kind makes their appearances, twinkling in the clear, dark night sky. It is when the Moon shines the brightest. 

She sprinkled them into the ocean, allowing the wind to carry them away on their journey to Death’s doorstep...

Imagine being one of the millions of stars in the galaxy but just wanting someone to see you. Actually see you. Not have people’s gazes rake over you in search of a whole constellation. What would it be like to not be so easily dismissed? What would it be like to not be overlooked but instead acknowledged? 

Maybe I am not Pluto, but one of the lonely stars. Is that how people see me? Just one of the many specks of light poured into the night? Only one of the billions of people walking on this Earth? Sometimes I feel like an unseen particle of dust aimlessly floating in the air. So small and insignificant. So useless and dejected. Just so... alone. Lost. And that is the worst feeling. I do not know whether it is a good or bad thing to fit in with everyone else and practically be invisible. I do not know if I even want to be seen. But I do not want to feel lost anymore. I do not desire to undergo the disorienting, oppressive waves of life anymore. 

My soul, my spirit, myself, has been buried deep beneath the surface of this Earth. And even if it were to find its way back to me, all that would be left of it is pitiful scraps of what used to be me. Because I tore it apart. Long ago, I loved it. I cherished it. It was fragile yet sturdy because I had no intention of shattering it. In a sense, it was my very own craft. I had spent awhile molding it to convey my creativity, adding every last detail and feature with such care. All so that I could later obliterate it so that I might shine like the Sun.

But little did Mahina know, whole and pure, her soul was inside her. Powerful and bright and still fighting, even after all of life’s punches that had driven her back into the obliterating darkness. It glows, as radiant as the Sun. And it is, in a way, the Sun. Her Sun. But not quite. She did not shine the way the Sun did. She did not possess the hot, flickering flames that the Sun proudly donned, nor did she flood the world with her golden, mighty beams of joy. Instead, she was a more tranquil and soothing version of it. She took the Sun’s place up in the sky when it melted into the horizon to go bathe the other half of the world in its warm, welcoming glow. She was the one who, when all of that joy and brightness faded away, emitted her own sort of soft light on the world. Offering comfort and gentleness, rather than ecstasy and boldness. Red was the blazing Sun, but Mahina was the gleaming Moon.