Would you buy a star if given a chance?

You’ve just made a grand purchase—a star of your own.

Not just in a metaphorical but a very tangible way. Well, it exists, light years away, in all its glorious mass—tangible and real. Every night, you gaze up at the vast, star-studded universe and your eyes lock on that one shimmering point. Your Star. The source of your pride and a mark of your uniqueness in this vast universe.

But let’s delve a bit deeper into this thought experiment.

Your star is, let's say a 100 light years away, and the light you see is 100 years old—a century-old flicker. The light that reaches your eyes tonight left the star long before your birth, or your father's birth, traveling through the cold, dark expanse of the universe. What you see, is what there was. Is the star even there now? Well, you will never know, have to wait a 100 years you know!

When you purchased this star, you knew that you would never see it as it is today, it was written in the fine print of the *contract. The photons you observe started out when it was a bygone era(the time of Industrial age on earth?), and by the time they reach you now, they’re snapshots of a moment long gone. The star you bought when you signed the contract, in its present state, will forever remain beyond your reach, hidden in the future that you will never see.

This reality raises a fundamental question: What gives? Why would you want to buy and own a star?

Is it the allure of possessing a unique piece of the universe, the idea of having something so grand and distant in your name that you feel like you are leaving a mark when you depart this life?

Or is it a deeper yearning to connect with the infinite, to feel a part of something that transcends our fleeting existence on Earth?

Well, what is ownership really? Everything is really rented, right? We were not here and will not be here, the universe doesn't notice or care?

We gain consciousness and want to possess things. This urge to own, to claim as "ours," is a peculiarly human trait. We cling to the illusion of permanence in an impermanent world, grasping at ownership as if it could provide an anchor to us against the relentless tide of time. Yet in cosmic terms, our "ownership" is fleeting - a momentary custodianship in the grand flow of existence. We are brief tenants in the universe, our possessions merely on loan during our short stay.

In the end, it is less about possession and more about perspective.

Humans are paradoxical beings. Made up of stardust but still need validation to claim ownership over the very stuff we're made of.

This celestial 'purchase' is our attempt to bridge the gap between our finite existence and the infinite cosmos, to leave an unerasable mark on the universe that seems so much indifferent to our presence.

So, as you gaze upon your star tonight, remember: “The gods envy us. They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.” - Achilles, Troy

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In claiming a star, you are not asserting ownership over the cosmos but celebrating the ephemeral beauty of existence. The star will outlast you, but it is your brief, burning desire that gives it meaning—a fleeting energy that the gods, in their eternal monotony, can only envy.