The Autobiography of a Fallen Star

I was born on a sinking island under a waning moon. They shrouded me in galaxies and fed me broken stars. I was woven into constellations and named after love.

My fate was etched into the universe and written by the night.

And although I sometimes wish I had remained in the nebulae to be cradled and embraced forever by the moon, I know I am not just another star in the sky.

I am exactly where I’m meant to be; besides, I can always look up and feel the comforts of home.

My parents had me in their early 20s—not too young, but young enough. I once asked my mother if I had been unwanted. "No," she replied. "I wished for you for a long time." She thought she'd never become a mother, but she did—four more times.

I was born first, and the eldest children are the experiments—especially daughters. We're the role models; our job is to teach and guide our siblings through life.

I don’t mind being in charge—sure, sometimes I get called bossy, which I pretend to hate but secretly love. It reminds me of Kristy from Ann M. Martin's The Babysitters Club. Kristy is the head bitch in charge—and like her, I relish it.

Life was simple back then. I have an enormous family and was always surrounded by love. When I say huge, I'm not exaggerating—both my mom and dad have eight siblings, and as a result, I have countless aunts, uncles, and dozens upon dozens of cousins.

When I wasn’t with one side of the family, I was with the other, playing, laughing, and annoying each other, as close family does. We were so close we didn’t consider ourselves "just cousins." We were siblings, and we still are. Some bonds never break, no matter the passage of time.