In the company of stars.

The Middle star of Orion's Belt shines brightest.

In the midst of solitude, I take comfort in stargazing.

There, in the vastness of space, I find myself partly absorbed in my idea of insignificance. Early philosophers have concluded that looking at the stars is a way of reminding ourselves of how seemingly frail we are. We always engage in matters that we find alluring, only to be foiled by our lack of understanding of things in the end. On the other hand, scientists find it peculiarly interesting to explain the meaning of things and events, including that of stars. We all learn in elementary that stars do not really blink. The emission of the star’s light when it enters our atmosphere seems to give an impression that it twinkles. In such situations, it only progresses the notion that we try to compensate our triviality through logic. We believe that in understanding everything (or coming close it), we will be able to answer life’s complexities.

But for me, the true beauty in stargazing is finding the one that twinkles the most, the brightest light in a sea of splendor. Stargazing is a reminder that the world, in its cosmic infinite state, is still fraught with grandeur. The stars akin to people are diverse, each one with possibilities for greatness. In the sea of stars, under the comfort of the night’s melody, you attempt to locate the one that provides warmth or beauty or brilliance. Some may choose one that seems quiet, while others choose those that sparkle the most. But each has a distinct reason for his preference.

If you ask me, I have always developed a penchant for the middle star of Orion’s Belt. I think I have found that star: ethereal, bright, and full of life.