THE BIG FAMILY

At first, there was nothing.

Not the quiet you hear before dawn, not the stillness of a room where everyone is asleep — no, this was a quiet that didn’t even know it was quiet. It was a silence that hadn’t yet invented sound.

And then, something happened.

I like to imagine it as a laugh. A wild, unexpected laugh that burst through the emptiness, like someone telling a joke to themselves in a dark room. That laugh — or maybe it was a spark, a flash — started everything.

That’s when the Big Family was born.

The first to arrive was Ignis, the oldest brother, blazing with fire and impossible to ignore. He tore across the darkness, leaving streaks of light behind him like fireworks.

Then came Solara, the quiet sister, patient and graceful. While Ignis burned brightly, she gathered dust in her hands and shaped it into new things. She spun slowly, creating circles and patterns, as though she was teaching the world to dance.

Soon, others joined them. Some were loud and brilliant, their presence filling every corner of the new space. Others were small and quiet, content to shine softly on their own. They bumped into each other, collided, drifted apart, and sometimes came together again to make something new.

It was messy. Chaotic. Beautiful.

The Big Family was never still. They argued, they crashed, they sent pieces of themselves flying. Some disappeared completely, fading away, leaving behind glowing memories — clouds of soft, golden dust that shimmered as if they wanted to remind everyone: I was here.

But no matter how far they wandered, no matter how different they were, they were connected by something invisible. Something like a promise. Something that kept them moving forward, even when they didn’t know where forward was.

And in that endless movement, the family grew.

More and more siblings arrived, some spinning quickly like excited children, others slow and heavy, quietly holding everything together. The elders became calm, watchful. They didn’t say much, but they saw everything — every spark, every collision, every birth of something new.

That’s where I like to imagine myself — one of the younger ones, still figuring out where I belong in this enormous, ever-expanding family.

Sometimes I look at the older ones — the blazing brothers who once ruled everything, now fading into memory — and I wonder if one day I’ll burn out too. Other times I look at the newborns, tiny sparks just finding their place, and I feel hopeful. Maybe we all get a chance to start fresh, to make something beautiful out of whatever’s left of us.

When I feel small — and I often do — I remind myself that small doesn’t mean unimportant. The Big Family needs every one of its members. Even the quiet ones. Even the ones who feel like they’re spinning alone in the dark.

Because here’s the thing: the Big Family is still growing.

It hasn’t stopped. Out there, somewhere, new lights are flickering into existence right now. The dance is still going on, even in places we can’t see yet.

And maybe that’s the point.

Maybe we were never meant to see the whole picture. Maybe our job is just to keep moving forward, to keep shining in our own way, no matter how far apart we are.

The Big Family is vast. It’s wild. It’s imperfect. It’s home.

And as long as there is space to fill, as long as there is even the smallest spark, the family will keep growing — carrying that first laugh, that first light, that first impossible beginning with it.

Forward. Always forward