My Love Affair with the Moon

It’s strange. Really strange. Some might call me a lunatic (get it??) but I pretend the moon is my guardian. My best friend. Whenever I feel alone (that’s almost always at night), I look outside my window and there it is, beaming (literally) at me.

I’m going through a lot of changes in my life right now; my likes, interests, responsibilities, perspectives, and specifically my transition from school into college. I even went to a dinner where I met my friends’ friends. Meeting new people is not my forte. Oh no. I get really awkward and uncomfortable. In situations like these, my head gravitates up almost instinctively, in search of the moon. If I’m lucky enough to be under the night sky, as I was that night, I’ll find it protectively above me, promising to always be familiar in a foreign situation. My constant.

But why am I so obsessed? Maybe its the notion that while the moon is sunk in the never-ending oceans of space,  it is still our own. It pulls and pushes the tides, thereby regulating weather and maintaining consistent climatic patterns. It controls cycles and guides instincts. Our Earth is infinitely dependent on this mass of grey rock that was a result of chance cosmic impact.

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Here’s a shot I got of the supermoon through my telescope on the 10th.

Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?

 

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I really wish I wasn’t afraid of people. I don’t want to fear murderers, or rapists, or abusive husbands, or just people who laugh, people that don’t listen, specially people that won’t see. If I hear sounds at night, I don’t want my heart rate to quicken, I don’t want that sickly feeling in my stomach, and I really don’t want to feel helpless.