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Etoiles

image borrowed from The Atlas of the Stars

We are taught, in Nursery, of stars in rhymes that are capable of making wishes come true. By Grade School, they become badges of honor; medals we receive for proper decorum or academic excellence. In High School, they become role models; athletes and performers whom we wish were either us, or people around us. And by the time College hits us they are made to be of gaseous form, composed of Helium and Hydrogen, are far away, distant and unreachable.

Now, they are also friends, colleagues, clients and characters, often times difficult, but nevertheless attainable beings of extraordinary physical attributes or talent, or both. They are as real as the tuna we eat, whose cans their faces are plastered on, yet with egos as big as the billboards with which they decorate the city with. They are also as stubborn as any crying child, craving everyone’s attention, and at the same time as cute and cuddly as any newborn babe is. And each time we try to categorize them as monster, masterly, diva, & delusional, we still go back to the same old simplistic view of who they are: they are stars.

Today, two of them got married. One canceled on a shoot. One gave too short a greeting, and still another one asked to put on some eyeliner on his all-too-rocked-out eyes. Yes, we all have our star moments, and for some, we wish for better ones; others we laud for their deeds; some we yearn to learn more of; and a select few we desire to implode on their own shortcomings. We still look at our stars the way we were taught to look at them from the very beginning: objects of fancy, of desire, of longing. Eventually, though, reality creeps in, and gives out a comforting thought that the Earth that we stand at is much more grounded than the atmosphere they so whimsically live in. And you begin to wonder why you ever needed to wish on a star in the first place.