The world is vast yet close, magical yet real—clouds are castles, and puddles hold galaxies. Every question is an adventure, every answer a doorway to more mystery. I have no fear of the unknown, only delight in discovery.
At five years old, my world is alive with endless possibilities—trees whisper secrets, and dreams take flight. In my curious eyes, the universe is boundless, untouched by doubt. But when does that fearless imagination fade, quietly overtaken by reality’s rigid truths? One day, the towering redwood no longer spins tales of adventure; it simply stands, a silent giver of oxygen, its magic distilled into science.
A necessary understanding, perhaps, but far less thrilling than the heroes I once saw soaring through the sky, fending off cosmic invaders. Reality offers knowledge, but childhood offers wonder and I wonder which is greater. As our minds accumulate knowledge, reality becomes inescapable. Yet perhaps the secret to a joyful life lies in preserving that flicker of childlike wonder, shielding it from the relentless tide of practicality.
Thinking back to my childhood in Lobatse, I smile, recalling a world brimming with infinite possibilities.
As a young boy, two things fascinated me above all—fast cars and the endless abyss of space. I wasn’t alone in my obsession. Heated debates filled our days: Was Ford or Chevrolet the king of the dirt road from Lobatse to Gaborone? In our insulated, internet-less world, we knew little of the lightning-fast Porsches and Ferraris tearing through distant racetracks—though that may not be entirely true.
We followed our local Formula 1 hero, South African Jody Scheckter, with unwavering devotion, watching him chase his dream of becoming the world’s best. And through his victories and defeats, we, too, dared to dream. My dreams propelled me into the vast unknown, where space stretched endlessly, a backdrop for my imagination.
How could a child not wonder about the mysteries beyond our stratosphere? What distant worlds awaited, what alien civilisations thrived in the obsidian abyss? These questions ignited visions of intergalactic battles, of Earth’s triumphant victories amongst the stars. Had you asked me then what I wanted to be, my answer would have come without hesitation: “A race car driver or an astronaut.” Bold, unstoppable dreams.
Safe to say, reality had other plans. But oh, what a thrilling ride those dreams provided. But would becoming an astronaut have truly lived up to the grand adventure I once envisioned? Space, long heralded as the final frontier, still holds its mystique.
Trips to the International Space Station and satellite launches have become routine, yet the reality of space travel is far from the boundless heroism I once imagined. What of the body, the mind? Would we soar through the cosmos with the strength of superheroes, our thoughts sharp as the stars? Or would the weightlessness that once seemed so magical erode our muscles, cloud our minds, and remind us that even amongst the stars, we are still only human? Space travel has a profound and devastating effect on our bodies. Blasting off into space isn’t as effortless as childhood dreams would suggest.
The initial launch subjects astronauts to crushing g-forces—more than twice what we experience on Earth. Former NASA astronaut Dr. Sandy Magnus once likened it to having a “70-pound gorilla sitting on your chest,” a weighty reminder that space demands a toll. But that’s the last of gravity astronauts feel before reentering the Earth’s atmosphere once their mission is complete?
But gravity—or the sudden absence of it—is only the beginning of space’s strange grip on the human body. Astronauts have reported everything from deteriorating eyesight to genetic shifts and unexpected skin rashes upon arrival. Astonishingly, space accelerates the aging process, fast-tracking cardiovascular decline and cognitive wear.
On Earth, gravity fuels bone-building cells called osteoblasts, keeping our skeletal structure strong. Without it, bones lose one percent of their density each month, while muscles weaken from disuse. By the time astronauts return, their bodies demand rehabilitation—a grueling 45-day programme to regain the strength that gravity once provided effortlessly.
NASA astronaut Scott Kelly, after spending a year in space, had to relearn how to walk, his body unaccustomed to the very ground beneath him. Beyond muscle loss, space presents even graver risks. Increased radiation exposure has been linked to heart disease, cancer, and degenerative eye disorders. So, childhood fantasies aside, I think I’ll stay firmly planted on Earth’s gravity-bound surface. As for my need for speed? These days, I dutifully obey all speed limits. Maybe, I’ve finally grown up.
