I read once that, should a star explode, its electromagnetic radiation could take 600 years to reach Earth. A star could explode—gone from the Universe—and we would have no idea for six centuries.
That’s nearly 20 generations of people.
When I was six, I adopted a star: Emalinabotecifis. A beautiful red speck snuggled beneath the arm of Orion—hundreds of light years away. A speck that’s bright, burning, and mine.
My star was more than just something special to own—it held a piece of me inside of it. At night, when others whispered desperation in the direction of a burning meteor, I pressed my wishes into a kiss and sent each one to my star.
My star was more than just something special to own—it held a piece of me inside of it.
Emalinabotecifis, send me your blessings.
Emalinabotecifis, please ensure I love my new friends.
Emalinabotecifis, I want to feel happy forever.
My star knew the secrets to my soul. Even now, it knows my secrets—I tell it everything, like a star could be my best friend.
When a star is red, I’ve heard it’s dying. At any moment, my star could vanish into millions of flaming parts. It could have already, yet I’d never know in my lifetime. I try not to think about that because Emalinabotecifis is a brilliant red, due for death, and I don’t want it to go.
I don’t want it to disappear; with it, would my childhood disappear, and my hopes and dreams, and the last remnants of memory I have of being six?
With it, would its namesake disappear?
Emalinabotecifis is an old nickname. Inspired by the undying friendship of a girl and a dog that wasn’t quite her dog, to me, it holds the memory of late-night dog cuddles and kisses, waking up to a pup at my feet, and watching a terrier jump through a hula hoop—a party trick in exchange for a treat.
I don’t want to lose that.
The truth is that I won’t. Even if it had died before I was given the star, Emalinabotecifis wouldn’t disappear from Earth’s night sky until the year 2613. I will be long gone, reunited with the dog that passed so many years ago, by the time my star goes missing.
I will never know its end, so why should I worry? For now, I will just appreciate what I do have: a star to wish upon, my own special star, a star for holding memories and souls and love and light—a star that guides me every night.
