star notes

I’m walking down a street in Reykjavik, Iceland with my oldest best friend and I look up and see the stars.

I’m on a night train in Australia, traveling between Sydney and Melbourne and I look out of the window and I see the southern cross and the little dipper for the first time.

I’m skinny dipping in the middle of the night in a small surf town in Queensland, Australia¬†with a best friend, lying naked in warm ocean water staring at the infinite sea of constellations above me.

I’m tripping on acid in a secluded bay called Tonsai in Thailand, with someone I only met a day ago, playing with the phosphorescence in the night ocean and staring at the stars.

I’m sitting on a wicker chair outside a hostel in Ubud, Bali, talking about god with a boy, looking up and naming stars.

I’ve just hiked up a mini mountain outside of Kuala Lumpur in the middle of the night with a most eclectic group of people and now, at the top, I’m watching the stars disappear and and sun start to rise.

I’m on a night boat safari in Borneo going down the Kabanatuan river and the stars seem more plentiful than the space between them and I have never seen them so close.

I’m all alone on an island in Malaysia, spending the night in complete solace, sleeping on a beach, with just the galaxies above keeping me company.

And now I sit on my roof in my hometown, smoking a cigarette, and I’m looking at the stars.


It’s hard to write about looking at the stars without it being totally cheesy, but the fact is, some of my strongest memories (the kind of memories where you can remember everything about the moment; what you were wearing, what the air smelt like, who you were with, how you felt) revolve around me staring up at the night sky. Looking at the stars has always brought me intense contrasting feelings: the feeling of existential dread, that we’re just tiny specs in this giant world that barely matter, along with a grand feeling of beauty and optimism and wonder.

When I look up and see lights from celestial bodies lightyears away, I feel insignificant and I know I’m merely a minuscule blip in this massive universe. But I also feel amazement and gratitude.

I feel the vastness and the beauty of this world and I feel lucky to be able to exist and experience it all.

We are a way for the universe to know itself. Some part of our being knows this is where we came from. We long to return. And we can, because the cosmos is also within us. We’re made of star stuff.” (Carl Sagan)

white rock, 2016