Over the course of our relationship and marriage, Sonya and I have spent a lot of time apart. We met during my last year of college, when she was still a junior. Shortly after we began dating, we weathered 3 distant months as she lived and studied in Madagascar. Our communication during this time consisted of daily letters, which arrived months after they were sent, and a once-monthly, twenty-minute phone call. I could have overcome the distance though, had it not been for the sky.

At any given time, I realized, neither the sun nor the moon could shine on me and her at the same time. Moreover, she was so far from me that she didn’t even look up at the same stars that I did. Where I saw the Northern Crown, she saw the Southern Cross. I was awake while she was sleeping.

Those three months tested our commitment, and eventually led to a year in which she was finishing college and I was starting grad school. We lived apart, but made it work, and half-way through, married.

Vietnam is only half a world away, and while 12 hours separate us,  we will both see the Big and Little Dipper in the sky at night. Thanks to the infrastructure we will require for production, our phone calls can be much more frequent and last longer than the time-delayed frustration of Madagascar. The wonders of this project will bring my every experience to her instantaneously.

But the filaments that connect viewers with our experiences cannot, no matter how thick, wholly bridge the distance that lies between. Phone calls can only connect my day to her night. Cold stars are small comfort for warm needs.