Before I Knew How to Look
I don’t think about the sky very often. But when I do, it feels strangely unchanged — like a fixed reference point in a life that’s constantly accelerating. Physics tells us that time isn’t universal. According to the theory of relativity, time stretches and contracts depending on motion. The faster you move, the less time you experience. And maybe that’s why adulthood feels like this — not because time is speeding up, but because we are. When you’re younger, life moves slowly. You wait. You imagine. You sit still long enough for moments to settle. Time has weight then. I think about my classroom sometimes. I was there, but only partially—caught between who I had been and who I was becoming. At the time, what I wanted was a camera. Not as an accessory or something to be noticed, but as a way to hold onto things as they were—to fix a moment in place, to give weight to experiences that would otherwise pass too quickly. I used to think that one day, when I could afford it, I wo...