By Hasan Hafiz, High School Student

Birds become shrouded in confusion, sunflowers twist in uncertainty, yet I gaze in awe. The sky plunges into darkness, so fast it makes you question the possibility of a cosmic light switch. This infamous phenomenon is known as a solar eclipse.

It was a typical summer morning. After packing my bag, I headed out to summer camp. For weeks, my counselors had told me to mark my calendar for this very day, August 21st, because a solar eclipse was coming. I had read about eclipses before, but experiencing one was not something my nine-year-old brain could truly comprehend.

After arriving, the wait seemed to never end. I was filled with excitement you only experience a handful of times in life. My ears awaited the announcement from the camp director, and when it finally came, I struggled to refrain from tugging on the counselors and other campers to get there faster. After the classic warning not to look at the eclipse until totality, I was ready. I quickly grabbed my eclipse goggles and looked at the Sun patiently. A black spot started to engulf the light, my heart raced. Gradually the Sun was eclipsed and adrenaline coursed through my veins. Once totality was confirmed, I lifted off my goggles and it felt like my whole life led up to this moment. I was only reminded that the passage of time continued by the cold, surreal breeze grazing my skin.

 I could almost smell the disruption in the Earth’s natural flow. A solar eclipse defies all things nature is accustomed to.

It dawned on me though: if the Sun was completely blocked, why was it not night time? Obviously it was just sun rays peeking through, right? I was puzzled by this question ever since totality, but I forgot temporarily as everyone started to clap and cheer. Once it was over, the call for the cosmos rang in my head stronger than ever before. Going home after was disappointing, but it meant I got to revisit my question. I ran to my trusty tablet as soon as I got home and began to research.

My previous assumption was far from the truth. Every solar eclipse, a typically forgotten aspect of the Sun shines instead. The corona, a hazy cloud of million-degree plasma, is usually invisible because the Sun’s rays overshadow it. But during totality, it finally has its chance to show the world its beautiful halo around the Moon’s darkness.

Once the corona stepped off stage, nature resumed. Birds began to sing again, the chatter of campers grew louder, and the warmth rushed back to my skin. But the image of the eclipse was engraved in my mind. While uncovering the answers, I realized eclipses were not just spectacles of cosmic nature but doors leading to mysteries science has been trying to solve. I was oblivious to it at the time, but that day a seed of curiosity for the cosmos was planted in me.

Eight years later I cherish this moment as one of the biggest sparks in my journey toward becoming an astronomer. The universe is an endless sea of knowledge, and though the sky’s light switch has long been flipped back on, my curiosity has stayed lit ever since.