Spoiler Alert: If you haven't watched the movie yet.
Today, I watched Interstellaragain. There’s something about the film that always feels like it reaches into my chest and probes for something deep inside me. It’s like being caught in a vortex of emotions that, for a fleeting moment, leave you grappling with the vastness of space and the fragility of time itself. This time, it struck me even harder. Maybe it's because lately I've been so acutely aware of how time feels like something slipping through my fingers these days. Always too slow in making decisions, always regretting what I didn’t do, and always a casualty of time. Always a step behind, like life is moving forward and I’m watching from a distance, helpless to catch up. I suppose that’s why Interstellar hit so hard today. Its unsettling dance between the infinite and the finite made me reflect on my own life and the moments I’ve let slip by.
Time. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? The way it stretches and bends, sometimes moving so slowly and other times rushing past without warning. Something I couldn't shake after the movie ended. The scene that really got me this time was when Dad Cooper ends up in the fifth dimension. It's where time itself is the physical space, and Cooper is trying to make sense of the very thing that has kept him away from his children for so long.
The fifth dimension scene, where Cooper is in that strange, endless space, is obviously a stunning visualization of the layers of time. The moment he realizes that he's not just looking at physical objects but at moments, memories—fragments of time itself—is so shuddering. It struck me because I’ve often thought about time like that, if it's a thing we could touch or shape. I could feel this need in the scene: Cooper’s desperate need to communicate, to somehow make up for the lost years and choices that were never made. As he frantically tries to send a message through gravity to Daughter Murph, it feels like regret is getting embodied in front of his eyes.
Watching that scene felt like staring at a mirror. How many times have I wished I could go back and change a decision? How many times have I looked at my life and felt like there was something I missed, something I didn’t do or say in time? It’s an overwhelming feeling. The film shows time is not just a linear force—it’s something that can be manipulated, something we can control or be controlled by. Not sure about actuality. But Cooper’s desperate attempt to alter the past mirrors how I often feel. Maybe not in such an extraordinary way, but there are moments when I wish I could turn back time, fix mistakes, or have the courage to seize opportunities I let slip away.
It’s this paradox of time that makes me belly-churningly uncomfortable that forces me to rethink: How much of the past can we change? How much control do we have over our own time, and when do we have to let go of the regrets that haunt us? Especially when it comes to human relationships? And, love? Cooper’s love for his children, especially for Murph, his guidance through the vastness of space. Love is the reason he can’t let go of his mission, love is the reason he went on this mission, and love is the reason he reaches out across time to communicate with her.
Gut-wrenching it is when Cooper watches the video messages from his children, spanning 23 years. Son Tom expresses his frustration and eventual acceptance of Cooper's absence, turning the funerals of his granddad and child into his father's as well, while Murph shares her birthday message, revealing that she is now the same age Cooper was when he left. "But today's my birthday. And it's a special one, because you told me... you once told me that when you came back, we might be the same age," hit me like a ton of bricks. She has grown up without him, and that he has missed so much of her life is a powerful testament to the fact that being a casualty of time makes you gain a lot of distance between you and the people in your life.
I’ve often heard people say that time changes things, but does it really? Or does it simply ingrain those connections even further? I’ve experienced moments where I let time slip away thinking I would reach out later—years of distance between friends, family, and even romantic relationships. I wonder: Does time heal wounds? At the end, when Cooper and Murph finally reconnect, she tells him that she always knew he was out there, that she never gave up hope. The sheer emotion of that moment, the weight of all those years of separation, is something I can’t quite put into words. I can’t help but think about the people I’ve drifted away from—what would it take to reconnect? And would it be worth it? Time is fleeting. Every second I spend regretting the past or worrying about the future is one I lose in the present. We can make choices that affect our future. It made me think about how I navigate my own life. Am I really making the most of my time? Am I cherishing the relationships I have? Or am I constantly chasing something that’s just out of reach, like Cooper chasing time in that fifth dimension?
- Oizys.
Today, I watched Interstellar
Time. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? The way it stretches and bends, sometimes moving so slowly and other times rushing past without warning. Something I couldn't shake after the movie ended. The scene that really got me this time was when Dad Cooper ends up in the fifth dimension. It's where time itself is the physical space, and Cooper is trying to make sense of the very thing that has kept him away from his children for so long.
The fifth dimension scene, where Cooper is in that strange, endless space, is obviously a stunning visualization of the layers of time. The moment he realizes that he's not just looking at physical objects but at moments, memories—fragments of time itself—is so shuddering. It struck me because I’ve often thought about time like that, if it's a thing we could touch or shape. I could feel this need in the scene: Cooper’s desperate need to communicate, to somehow make up for the lost years and choices that were never made. As he frantically tries to send a message through gravity to Daughter Murph, it feels like regret is getting embodied in front of his eyes.
Watching that scene felt like staring at a mirror. How many times have I wished I could go back and change a decision? How many times have I looked at my life and felt like there was something I missed, something I didn’t do or say in time? It’s an overwhelming feeling. The film shows time is not just a linear force—it’s something that can be manipulated, something we can control or be controlled by. Not sure about actuality. But Cooper’s desperate attempt to alter the past mirrors how I often feel. Maybe not in such an extraordinary way, but there are moments when I wish I could turn back time, fix mistakes, or have the courage to seize opportunities I let slip away.
It’s this paradox of time that makes me belly-churningly uncomfortable that forces me to rethink: How much of the past can we change? How much control do we have over our own time, and when do we have to let go of the regrets that haunt us? Especially when it comes to human relationships? And, love? Cooper’s love for his children, especially for Murph, his guidance through the vastness of space. Love is the reason he can’t let go of his mission, love is the reason he went on this mission, and love is the reason he reaches out across time to communicate with her.
Gut-wrenching it is when Cooper watches the video messages from his children, spanning 23 years. Son Tom expresses his frustration and eventual acceptance of Cooper's absence, turning the funerals of his granddad and child into his father's as well, while Murph shares her birthday message, revealing that she is now the same age Cooper was when he left. "But today's my birthday. And it's a special one, because you told me... you once told me that when you came back, we might be the same age," hit me like a ton of bricks. She has grown up without him, and that he has missed so much of her life is a powerful testament to the fact that being a casualty of time makes you gain a lot of distance between you and the people in your life.
I’ve often heard people say that time changes things, but does it really? Or does it simply ingrain those connections even further? I’ve experienced moments where I let time slip away thinking I would reach out later—years of distance between friends, family, and even romantic relationships. I wonder: Does time heal wounds? At the end, when Cooper and Murph finally reconnect, she tells him that she always knew he was out there, that she never gave up hope. The sheer emotion of that moment, the weight of all those years of separation, is something I can’t quite put into words. I can’t help but think about the people I’ve drifted away from—what would it take to reconnect? And would it be worth it? Time is fleeting. Every second I spend regretting the past or worrying about the future is one I lose in the present. We can make choices that affect our future. It made me think about how I navigate my own life. Am I really making the most of my time? Am I cherishing the relationships I have? Or am I constantly chasing something that’s just out of reach, like Cooper chasing time in that fifth dimension?
- Oizys.