On Curiosity, the Sequel

The incidents that happened to me eight years ago made me promise myself that I would never discourage anyone who approaches me with questions - be it my cousins or my juniors. I'm always happy to help - that is, if one is willing to accept my help.

One bus ride home from school, I sat with some fourth graders and we were discussing vegetarianism, when one of them asked, "Who defined vegetarianism and non-vegetarianism? Was it God?" How easily children accept dogma.

Well, from there to the rest of the long bus ride, we were discussing some pretty heavy stuff...for a fourth grader, at least. But I'm glad we were able to discuss frankly with no inhibitions something that was supposed to be taken for granted. And I could tell I had given those kids something to think about. And the rest of the way home, I marveled at the world we've been able to create around us. 

The next day, as I had hoped, the girl, the fourth grader, had more questions, which I was, again, happy to answer. And the day after that, I encouraged her to keep questioning and finding answers. I told her to hunt me down if she had to. But I have a feeling she'll find out what she has to, with or without my help.

It's one step towards fulfilling the promise I've made to myself. 

As the tagline for Discovery Science says, "Question Everything."

The Orionids: Thoughts

This event had been a few months in the making. It started with a Facebook post and ended spectacularly.

Also, I'm considering crossing this off my bucket list. Not sure.

Along with a spectacular display, I also had the opportunity to understand and question two main ideas. I'll get to that later.

So. The Orionids. Appropriate for the first meteor shower of my life, because Orion is the first constellation I learned to identify. And also because I had to skip school to view it. So we know what I'd choose, given the choice between attending school and witnessing an astronomical event for the first time in my life. Is it even a choice? And a fair one at that?

But I digress.

Leading up to the days before the meteor shower, I told my friends what I'd be doing pre-dawn at the peak of the meteor shower. The problem - "What is a meteor?" Because the common term for a meteor is shooting star, and that upsets me. Because it's not a star, precisely. If it were, we'd be burned to a crisp "over and over and over again" (Imagine Dragons reference).

I'm not suggesting we stop using the term. That's not my business. But I will express my frustration at having to explain what a meteor is using that phrase to someone who I expected better from.

It might just be me, but I question how anyone cannot possibly know what a meteor is. But heck. C'est la vie. But do know that I will use scientific terminology as best and much as I can if my interlocutor is around my age or older. So I've addressed the first of my ideas.

The second idea I understood more fully was that of why it's so easy to believe a supernatural being is out there, looking out for us. It's a beautiful lie, but that's just it. It's a lie.

The night of the meteor shower, I went to the terrace to get adjusted to the dark ahead of my family. The night sky I beheld was gorgeous. In fact, it was so gorgeous it was scary. I felt so small and vulnerable, like "one cosmic swipe and I'm dead." It wasn't the most scared or awed I've ever felt, but it definitely gave me a feel for why one might like to hold on to the idea of a benevolent force that keeps them alive. I've felt the need to express my gratitude, too. And it's sad that my existence probably doesn't - no, it definitely doesn't - count for anything in the lifetime of the Universe. But that doesn't hinder me. I exist, and the Universe has to deal with it. (You see? I'm talking about the universe as a living entity.)

Well, in conclusion, the Orionids themselves were a sight to behold. And the experience of waiting for it and finally watching it has me questioning and rethinking a lot of stuff.