My name is S. I’m trying to think about all those lines that opened great books, like “In a village of la Mancha, which I won’t name” or “Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself” I want to get inspiration and start the story I want to tell. But then, why would I do that? I’m an astrophysicist, not a writer!

My name is S, and I’m an astrophysicist. I work studying data from radio telescopes that analyze radio waves emitted immediately after the big bang. Old light researcher. That light has traveled for so long that it started as a short wavelength, and due to the expansion of the universe, it has been stretched to the quieter side of the spectrum, not colliding with matter on its way, like an old person who doesn’t want to bother those around them. Light as old as time. Maybe I could try writing more poetically, it is kinda nice.

My name is S and I’m a photographer for light no one cares about. Is it light though? Excitation of the electromagnetic field. A Photon. A Particle and A wave. No electrical charge, affected by gravity (You are gravity!). The elusive and, to us, contradicting nature of the smallest “things” that make up other things. If I were a photon I could maybe (just maybe) and also definitely, occupy two points of space-time at one moment.

My name may or may not be S, or it is S while also not being S and being something else like GG. Like a fundamental particle that moves freely, undefined until someone comes, ruins the moment, and GG particle shies away standing with hands tied in the front, and either mentions its momentum or position in time-space, (only one, though!) GG or S or me, is smart and knows how to keep secrets, that is one (one!) secret.

Quantum fields, that's it. In theory, those fields are present in every single corner of space-time, everywhere, always, like God (The God field!) Those photons are just peaks in that omnipresent, fluctuating everything, peaks that manage to pierce into reality. Wait, weren't the fields real? Is God real? What if instead of being the S, or GG (Attention, GG not for God two times God or any God at all) dear reader, I was a field, or in a field, absent, but not quite completely, from reality and its grind. Or the field could be a blanket that keeps me warm while I wake up and look at the light twinkling on the wall. A field of numbers, that's what my photos are, fields of data from a Radio telescope, and if my life was a poem that would it be.

My name is S and I´m an astrophysicist, maybe a poet or a photographer of old light, and my story starts In a village of La Mancha where Mrs Dalloway is going to buy the flowers herself, but she doesn't really want to think about it.