There is something about the stars that just makes everything okay.

When I look at the stars, splattered across the pitch-black sky like an artist just flicked her paint-filled brush across it, their very disorder reassures me. The very chaos of those tiny pin points of light makes me feel like it's okay for crazy to exist. Because as humans, we found order even in that chaos. We made ourselves believe they formed shapes and gave names and characteristics to them and even made multiple sciences out of their study. If we could fool ourselves into believing that the very stars have order, then finding order in our lives is child's play.

The science behind the birth and the death of stars and knowing that their light reaches us so very long after it leaves the star itself is fascinating. That sometimes the stars we see aren't even stars but just memories of them, with their light reaching us long after they die.

The most important thing I see when I look at a starry sky is my own insignificance. Compared to the endless magnitude of the sky and the trillions of stars it, who am I really? My life and issues seem so very unnecessary. When I look down at the tiny amount of physical space that I occupy in this planet and then compare it to the sheer infinity of the night sky and the stars in it, I realise how very worthless I am in the great scheme of things.

Those stars are a reality check.

I wish I could see the stars in Bangalore more often.