I used to think I was the center of the world. It's easy to assume that when the world seems so small. And though, at a young age, I was exposed to many places in the world, I had accepted that what I could see in peripheral vision was about as wide as the world was going to get. The only time I truly felt small was when I used to gaze up at the stars on a quiet midnight. Then, the millions of stars that studded the sky enchanted me with their beauty, but more importantly, made me realize that it was almost laughable to think that my world was the world. I think I was lucky to have watched Interstellar, 2014, by Christopher Nolan, in theaters and even luckier to have been around ten years old. Ironically, this movie about the limitations of time was, well, timeless. Set in a dreary futuristic state of the world where Earth and its inhabitants face suffocation and starvation, Interstellar revolves around the life of an ex-NASA pilot, Cooper, tasked with a mission to find a habitable planet by interstellar travel. My description of the movie does not do it justice. What I could not convey with a few words was Interstellar’s theme of love, which transcends distance, time, and even dimension. The chilling cinematography resonated with me: I experienced a grandeur only the vastness of space could teach. More than that, I could understand what a star was. What a planet was. Why space had been a mystery, a story, and a goal since the dawn of human civilization. This is something no book could teach me. Interstellar taught me the cruelty of time. The moment that frosted my veins was when Cooper staggered back to home base, the Endurance, only to realize that three hours stranded on another planet had stolen twenty-three Earth years of his life. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I watched Cooper slowly break down to the messages accumulated from his absence. His first grandson was born, Jesse. His daughter, Murphy, reaching an age older than him. Interstellar taught me that the concept of love, a very human concept, defies all boundaries and all dimensions. Dr. Amelia Brand's argued that love was quantifiable, desperately urging that "maybe it means something more – something we can’t yet understand. Maybe it’s some evidence, some artifact of a higher dimension that we can’t consciously perceive." Something that is utterly irrational. Even though I was a child when I encountered this film, I never cried much – I could count how many times I cried with my fingers. Yet sitting through Interstellar, and experiencing it, really moved me. My nose and eyes had been stained red by the time I walked out of the theater. I experienced the wonder of curiosity. I think it changed my perspective of the world and my place in it. Before, I had been the pivot of the universe. After, I became the smallest speck of the universe. And I found that I did not mind as much – not anymore.