It was just a box on a news site. Not even a big box. Like a little, quiet rectangle between “Travel” and “Trending Now.” It said, Scientists believe the Big Bang may never have happened.

​

I was like: What? Say again?

 

I mean, I always thought that part was decided. Like a birth certificate, you don’t question it, you just keep it in a drawer and show it upon request, for your marriage or a mortgage. But now it’s like the certificate was fake, and we’re left with no proof of birth.

 

I sat there for a minute.

I thought: But I had a story.

 

Two tiny molecules, or maybe not even molecules, just… moods? Floating. Not anywhere, because there wasn’t a where yet. Just sort of pulsing, like thoughts before they have words. One of them didn’t know the other existed. They were doing nothing; not improving, not fixing childhood trauma, not replying to group chats. Just being. Being wasn’t lonely; it was enough.

​

Then, when one noticed the other, there was a spark. That’s when I thought the universe started, the first awareness. Like two awkward teenagers in a new school.  One nods at the hallway, the other tilts their head, like they weren’t going to say hi, but then they do. I used to believe that was the Big Bang, the shy nod. The sudden intimacy of recognizing someone in a place where there was no one.

​

Then there was the evolution, from nods to long talks, and then one day, some time later, they didn’t walk, they ran, into each other. This license of spontaneity was the necessary tweak, like a big hug of recognition, maybe the biggest that ever was. A recognition so big and necessary that it made stars.

​

The Big Bang was the biggest act of love (or friendship) at first sight that ever was. The one that explodes you open so wide that galaxies fall out. That’s how I thought we got here. Love happened - I know it's cliche, I'll use it anyway.

But now the scientists say maybe not. Maybe there was no Bang. Maybe we live inside a black hole. A black hole!

​

Let me tell you again: A - BLACK - HOLE!

​

Of all places? A black hole? That’s such a vibe killer.

​

I just got used to being a Pisces, now I have to be a noodle in space? I tried to picture it: me, thin as thread, twirling into darkness, all my feelings stretched until they snap like someone is slurping ramen in Shinjuku. I’ve eaten ramen. I don’t want to be ramen. And then what if it’s black holes all the way down? One inside another, like mean Russian Dolls - matryoshkas of doom, a tunnel of swallowing. No, thank you, I want out, I want to be outside the black holes. I want the real infinity.

​

There are other theories, like this is all a simulation, that God is an algorithm with a beard, or that we’re just holographs. I put all those in another drawer labeled: maybe, but not today. Will I ever open it? Because we never know what we’ll desire tomorrow. Who will we want to run into and hug with explosive enthusiasm?

​

For now, I don't need my birth certificate or proof of the Big Bang.

I know I exist and I see stars when it's dark, and that’s enough.