A Starry Night Over the National Planetarium

Eddy didn’t like the sound of glass breaking. In his small, humid apartment in the heart of the city, that sound usually meant his parents were “discussing” things again.

“I’m going out, Ma!” Eddy yelled, not waiting for an answer. He grabbed his beat-up backpack, stuffed a half-eaten packet of keropok inside, and slipped out the door before the next round of shouting could start.

Outside, the city was a mess of neon lights, honking cars, and the smell of fried noodles from the street stalls. But Eddy wasn’t looking at the shops. He was looking up, even though the city haze made the sky look like a muddy bowl of soup. There were no stars here. Not really.

He hopped on the bus, swiping his student card with a familiar beep. He was heading to his “Secret Base”: the National Planetarium.

The Blue Dome

The National Planetarium sat on a hill like a giant, futuristic mushroom. To most kids, it was a place for boring school trips. To Eddy, it was the only place where things made sense.

“Late again, Eddy?” the security guard, Uncle Raj, asked with a toothy grin. He knew Eddy well. The boy was there three times a week, always sitting in the back of the theater or staring at the giant telescope.

“Aiya, Uncle, home is too noisy lah,” Eddy muttered, kicking a pebble.

Uncle Raj nodded slowly, his eyes kind. “The stars don’t shout, right? Go on in. The 4 PM show is starting. It’s the one about the Milky Way.”

Eddy slipped into the dark theater. The air-conditioning hit his skin—cold and crisp, a total change from the sticky heat outside. He sank into the plush velvet seat and leaned back. As the lights dimmed, the giant dome above him turned into a deep, velvety black.

Then, the stars came out.

Thousands of tiny, shimmering pinpricks of light exploded across the ceiling. A deep, narrator’s voice began to explain how the light from these stars took millions of years to reach Earth.

If that star died a thousand years ago, we’re still seeing it shine, Eddy thought. Compared to a star, my math test and my parents’ fighting are… actually quite small.

The Girl with the Notebook

After the show, Eddy went to his favorite spot: the observation deck. It was a balcony that looked out over the city. Usually, he was alone, but today, a girl was sitting there. She had a messy ponytail and a notebook filled with messy sketches.

“You’re the kid who fell asleep in the theater last week,” she said, not looking up.

Eddy felt his face get hot. “I wasn’t sleeping! I was… meditating.”

She snorted. “Sure. I’m Miki. I come here to draw the constellations. But the city light pollution is so bad today. Can’t see anything but Jupiter.”

“Jupiter is enough,” Eddy said, sitting a few feet away. “At least it stays in its orbit. It doesn’t move just because it’s angry.”

Miki stopped drawing. She looked at Eddy, really looked at him. “Your house also ‘not okay’ ah?”

In their neighborhood, “not okay” was code for everything. Money problems, fighting parents, or just feeling like you didn’t fit in.

Eddy shrugged, looking at his worn-out sneakers. “My dad lost his job at the factory. Now him and Ma just… they just make a lot of noise. Everything feels like it’s breaking, you know?”

Miki flipped her notebook to a page covered in swirls of blue and silver. “My grandma says we are all made of star-stuff. Carbon, nitrogen, all that. She says when life is messy, it’s just because we are in the middle of a supernova. Things have to explode before they can become something new.”

Eddy looked at her drawing. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt alive. “Supernova, huh? Feels more like a black hole sometimes. Just sucking everything in.”

“Black holes are cool too,” Miki laughed. “They lead to new galaxies.”

The Storm and the Stars

Over the next few weeks, Eddy and Miki became “Space Buddies.” They shared snacks—mostly Miki’s spicy seaweed and Eddy’s crackers—and talked about the cosmos.

One evening, a massive tropical storm hit. The rain lashed against the Planetarium’s dome like a thousand drums. The power flickered and then died. The whole building went dark.

“Alamak, total blackout,” Miki whispered.

They were stuck in the lobby. Outside, the world was a blur of gray rain. Eddy’s phone buzzed. A text from his mom: Where are you? Come home now. We need to talk.

Eddy felt a knot in his stomach. “Talk” usually meant more crying. He didn’t want to go back. He wanted to stay in the dark, where it was quiet.

“Eddy, look!” Miki pointed up.

Because the city power was out, the “light soup” had vanished. For the first time in his life, the real sky over the city was visible. Through the high glass windows of the Planetarium, the clouds parted just for a second.

It was breathtaking. The stars weren’t just white dots; they were diamonds, sapphires, and sparks of fire.

“It’s always been there,” Eddy whispered. “Even when the smog was thick and the lights were too bright… the stars were always there.”

A New Perspective

Eddy realized something then. His life was like the city sky. The “noise”—the fighting, the empty fridge, the stress—was just the light pollution. It was loud and bright and annoying, but it didn’t change the stars.

His family was struggling, yes. But his mom still left his favorite Milo drink on the table every morning. His dad still fixed Eddy’s bike even when he was too tired to speak. Those were the stars. He just had to look past the “noise” to see them.

“I have to go home, Miki,” Eddy said, standing up.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. The supernova is still happening, but I think I’m ready to see what comes next.”

The Return

Eddy walked home through the puddles. When he opened the door, the house was quiet. His parents were sitting at the small kitchen table, looking tired. There was a single candle lit in the middle.

“Eddy, sit down,” his dad said, his voice soft. “We’re sorry we’ve been so… loud lately. Things are hard, but we are a team, okay?”

His mom reached out and squeezed Eddy’s hand. “We will find a way, sayang. We promise.”

Eddy looked at the small candle flame. It wasn’t as big as a star, but in the dark apartment, it was enough.

“It’s okay, Pa. Ma,” Eddy said, smiling a little. “I know. Even when we can’t see it, the sky is still there.”

That night, Eddy didn’t dream of breaking glass. He dreamt of soaring past Jupiter, leaving the noise behind, and finding his own orbit in the vast, beautiful dark.