Graphics by Mags Garay
I heard somewhere that my mother was what stars would look like if they collided. If stardust and fire could take form, it would look like my mother. As a child, it was something I always believed in, for the sun was her face whenever I’d look up during our morning walks. It was magical, real, and easy to believe in. I can see her right there, proof that my mother is made of stars.
When you’re a child, you believe in everything to make sense of anything. Everything is confusing except for my mother. She was the one thing that will never change. I know this, so I believed with all my heart that she’ll always be made of the universe and that she’ll always hold my hand.
As I grew older, I was suddenly taller than the sun, tall enough to see her face. She had crow's feet resting at the side of her eyes; the smile lines on her face connected her moles like constellations forever marked on her face.
My mother is made of stars, and this will never change.
I am a planet orbiting her for millennials until I grow old enough to be a star myself.
But for now, she’s the sun that I can fit in a locket.
She is the milky way wrapping her arms around me.
She is the mother bear in the night sky, always keeping an eye on her cub.
She is the star of every pillar of creation, holding me up to create a strong foundation for the adult I was always meant to be.
For me, she was the sun, but to her it was me. She orbited around me until I could float in this universe on my own.
When Copernicus spoke the truth, we both listened and thought of our suns.
My mother is made of stars, and soon, I will be too.
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