My middle school physics teacher taught me an important lesson long ago. He said if you want to learn, don’t depend on anyone to teach you; chase after knowledge yourself. Granted, he said that because he did not like to answer our questions, and it was an easy way out.

People were always eager to give me advice. My dad loves the analogy of a dog chasing after me. Problems are like a rabid dog, he’d say. They will keep chasing after you as long as you keep running, but stop and face them, and then they’re gone for good.

He never really accounted for very slow dogs that would just linger around, their steely gaze locked on you from a slight distance. If you move towards them, they move back ever so slightly. If you walk away, they simply match your pace.

After this long and dreadful day, I merely wanted to see the stars. All day, I drove from one social event to another, wearing my fake smile and gesturing around with silly anecdotes. Still, the clock was ticking, and the dogs were salivating. I didn’t want to run away; I also didn’t want to face any kind of rabid animal —I simply wanted to exist.

I made it home, safe and sound, I assumed, but I couldn’t step outside of the car. The building door stood in front of me —a beautiful cyan color surrounded by white steel. It was what was behind that door that scared me. I knew they were there; you develop a sense after a while, call it a primal instinct.

After 20 minutes of idling, I opened the car’s sunroof; no stars. I thought to myself, maybe drive outside the city limits; surely there are stars somewhere —they can’t all be gone. With swift movements, I’m out of the parking spot that isn’t mine and onto the road that never wanted me there.

I drove south. I drove for hours. Not a star in sight. There were shimmering lights in the distance, though. At first glance, they might seem like stars, but as usual, I am sorely mistaken. They are ready to feast, and I have half a mind to let them. After all, what good is a sky full of stars if there are none to be seen?