 Last year I went to a place called El Quivali in northern Chile. It's one of the best places in the world to look at stars. The night sky was indeed magnificent. Or so I was told, I could only see 20 stars. You see, I'm night blind. My eyes don't adjust to darkness. It had always been this way, so I'd never been too worried. It was only in university when a new friend spoke up. Mila, this is not normal. You should see a doctor. Sometimes bad news can be a relief. In recent years I'd started stumbling over things. I'd walk straight into chairs and tables. I'd even bump into other people. They seemed to appear out of nowhere. I started to accept a new picture of myself. Clumsy and cloud-headed. My friends would joke that we lost Mila again. Hello? Are you still with us? When the doctor told me that I was suffering from a rare eye disease, my first feeling wasn't fear or sorrow. It was relief. I was relieved to know that there was an explanation. What had started as night blindness had developed into tunnel vision. I could only see what was directly in front of me. But that wasn't all. Eventually I would go blind. I was 21 and all my plans went down. This new Mila and her possible future, I did not know getting the diagnosis felt unfair. It wasn't what I had planned for. But that's not how life works, is it? You don't get to plan these things. But you do need to learn to live with them. Even today, it's a constant struggle. Turns out losing your sight sucks. Who would have thought? Yeah, however, losing your sight is not a big problem. It's a collection of many small ones. At first, just telling other people made my throat dry. Every time, it was like a punch in the face. Now, it's just a piece of information. Hi, I'm Mila, and I have tunnel vision. One of the hardest things has been learning to use the white cane. For the first two years, I refused to touch it. I hated how it made me seem more blind than I was. But there was something I hated even more, and that was crashing into other people and not getting the chance to explain. So I started practicing abroad, where nobody knew me. It felt safer. Slowly, I learned to love the freedom that the stick gave me. No longer was walking on a busy street like a scene from a horror movie. Every story has a silver lining. This one too. I'm losing my sight, but it's okay. Life doesn't end there. I'm often asked how I can be so positive and calm about this. My answer usually is, how could I not? Really, what's the alternative? Sit on the couch and live a useless life? I've come to realize that my illness doesn't define me. I may not see the stars, but I can travel to them, and that's exactly what I did last year when I backpacked four months through South America. In the end, which one is the worst, this ability? Suffering from an unfortunate condition or choosing not to live your life. If you think something will cripple you, it will. Thank you.