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It was announced some time ago that water had been found on the Moon, which was roughly translated as the Moon being “wet”. I must admit that this announcement made me chuckle ; I couldn’t help myself picturing astronauts, wearing swimming trunks over their astro-suits, diving into aquatic craters. I soon realised that it was ice that was discovered (of course, the Moon being a cold rock in the sky, what else could’ve been found ?) ; the whimsical nature of the news, however, did not disappear, as they could always put on ice skates. Finding water on such a close astral body is mind-boggling, for some reason ; I can’t help wondering about it, as I peer into the sky. The vast and uncharted unknown that still lies only right beside us, on the edge of our world, gives me chills, of both thrill and concern. You’d think we’d found out every little secret about the Moon, that good old neighbour of ours, that she had nothing left to hide from us, not even a dark side ; but it is often those closest to us that we know the least about.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve always been fascinated with space, with the stars and the Moon, and the ballet our solar system draws on our sky’s inky canvas. When I was younger, I wanted to be an astronomer, and greedily amassed knowledge about this realm beyond the clouds I have since long forgotten. I spent countless hours gazing at starry nights, wondering when the Moon would finally come down and talk to me, as old friends do. I never wanted to go to space, and still don’t, though ; as much as it still fascinates me today, going up to that massive void terrifies me to my core. The sheer size of it, the infinite amount of possible dangers, the yet undiscovered sublime landscapes that await us, all of this makes my head spin. Space dazes me, and I stand, confused and dizzy, in awe of what I will never be able to fathom. Star charts act as maps to my heart, even today ; stargazing on a cold and clear night stops my clocks, and the anguish that comes with the relentless passing of time.

I am convinced that I’m not the only one (not so) secretly passionate about space. Staring into such a void makes us all breathless ; how can this limitless vacuum hold so much meaning, so many phenomenons in itself ? The universe is too big for us, we are but trapped on that little dirt ball that is Earth, floating without a sound. It is a great unknown that fuels an ever-growing thirst for knowledge and endless possibilities. But, at the same time, it is so lonely. We are so hungry for company across those stars and for any sort of connexion that we send playlists and other bits’n’bobs into space, hoping someone, or something, will answer us someday. Being alone is an ordeal in this universe, and the possibility of it makes even skeptics shudder. We imagine invaders, friends, mere acquaintances, and long for only just a wave. We bond across lightyears, as NASA sang to the Opportunity Rover whilst it shut down. We send folks up there and eagerly wait for them to come down and tell us how beautiful it is up there. Some people even spend their lives studying what’s hiding in our nights, and never even brush the surface of it. In our quest for knowledge, finding out water on planets and other astral bodies is a godsend (maybe not, but it is at least a very exciting thing) ; perhaps are not as alone as we first thought ?

Although looking up at the sky is a promise for company, it’s also a breath of hope and understanding. We seek stories and poetry everywhere, and, for a very long time, we’ve looked up to the stars in search of guidance and answers to unspoken questions. For centuries, we’ve outlined constellations with symbolical links between stars to make them into systems. In them we find epics of heroes and gods that fought and celebrated and cried, and tales of the myriads of people that came before us, and looked up to the same Moon. They are tapestries for our fantasies, and feed us hope, hope that we are not alone out there, and that something good will always come. When I look towards the bright and icy Moon, I see a multiplicity of fates bound together. She reflects the Sun’s light in the most fortunate way ; we truly are the luckiest people on Earth. We look up to find answers, or at least hints for what’s about to happen, as we have for thousands of years ; we align ourselves on signs and try to make sense of it. Astrology has its haters and lovers ; all I’m saying is it puts a little warmth in our steps.

There is an idiom in French, “être dans la lune”, which carries a meaning I cherish. It roughly translates to “being in (not on) the Moon”, and is used when someone isn’t paying attention, or is lost in thought. Being “in the Moon” feels like a compliment to me ; I dream of endless worlds being discovered on the other side of the Milky Way with eagerness and apprehension, relishing the vertigo it all. Finding ice on the Moon, just like discovering traces of potential life on Mars a few years ago (just like David Bowie sang), is not just a chuckle-worthy headline ; it’s a tingle of excitement on the edge of my tongue.