The Moon Festival - Story of the Past Sep 23, 1997

The moon was so bright, so bright that the lights became pale in comparison. The view from the hill had become more and more mysterious and incredibly peaceful. I took a deep breath. It’s been so long since I had a home, a real home that is. Childhood memory revitalized, I must have been about 7 or 8, in the courtyard I sat, stared at the full moon, sipped the sour plum juice grandma made and listened to the ancient stories passed on by my grandparents.

There were many stories about the fairy lady on the moon, a rabbit, an old man and a few big trees. I thought how lonely it would be to be living up there by yourself. Though as I grew up, those fairy tales became rather innocent dreams. As a young kid, I was told there were fairies lived in heaven, and a day in heaven was equivalent to ten years on earth.

I cooked two dishes for this special occasion - mixed vegetable with tofu, and Chinese chives sautéed with eggs. There were also some boiled rice noodles, cleaned chilled grapes, a bottle of Merlot and a box of four moon cakes. The outdoor table was set with utensils and glasses. It was a nice quiet evening to watch the moon rising from behind the hills.

Since my guest for the night rarely ate meat, I didn't prepare any meaty dishes either. But certain amount of sweets were allowed. So on this very special holiday, I decided to share a piece of moon cake with my guest. I told him, after a glass of Merlot, the stories I grew up with, things like the Journey to the West, the super power Monkey King, the Dream of Red Chamber, the classical poems Mom made me to recite when I was only two years old. It must have been the very first time ever since I came to the States, some nine years ago, had I told anyone anything about my cultural upbringings. As a little girl, I was the only child in the family, every summer night, I'd sit by the court yard, under the millions of stars, make up stories that only the little mind of mine could comprehend. Such was a lonely yet lovely childhood. 

As I grew up a little bit more, writing became another way of living. Though music at one point somehow took over writing and I'd dreamed to become a singer. The first few on stage and TV performance won many compliments from my trainers and peers. Though Dad was too anxious to make his little daughter to become the journalist that he wanted her to be and took away those Sunday music lessons and exchanged with photography lessons. I still maintained the ability to sing in school, but no longer competed among trained teenager musical vocalists. All this time, as I told my listener, the writer's instinct continued. More and more articles won the awards in the city, and more and more prices were hang around the little condo we lived. We had little money to spent, yet we had so much together. Poetry, Classical novels, music, photography... Every summer night, we'd sit around and sipped the sour plum tea, watched and counted the stars. Every year, every Moon Festival, year and after year, and that was how I grew up.
Things took a turn just before I turned thirteen. It was right around the Moon Festival, after just winning two awards in teenage essay competition, I was about to be sent to a math competition, where a group of top notch students from all over the province will compete in the calculus and geometry contest. Dad has gone away for business for a year now, leaving mom and I taking care of the house. I had suddenly developed heart problem, my heart beat was so fast that I couldn't seem to breath properly. Doctors said that "this kid has been over worked. What are you parents trying to do?" telegrams were sent to far away, where Dad supposed to be working. Mom had still a heavy load of classes to teach, and a sick daughter lying in a hospital bed. It was the same year that I found boy to be an interesting specie, I had strange dreams about them, and my breasts were popping out from nowhere. Such a strange autumn, I laid on the bed, and dreamed about running away with an patient next door, a really good looking military guy with big dimples on his face. It was the reddest autumn, the leaves were falling, the streets were covered with the red leaves, and the mountain behind the hospital had a strange soothing effect at night. I liked lying on the bed, doing nothing but dreaming. No more competition, no more musical lessons, photography lesson, French or Japanese lessons, no more dance training, no more examinations, no more...

That was also the saddest autumn of all, when everything felt apart, from the surface, a happy family life was about to break it's ties. Mom found out that Dad wasn't really working on this holiday of Moon Festival, he was out with his secretary, cruising down the street, holding hands as if a pair of honeymooner, thousand miles away. Mom also found out that Dad wasn't working on united the three of us together, instead, he was trying to hire his formal secretary into his company. Sadly enough, when my heartbeat was becoming normal again, it was torn apart by the quarreling and fights my parents were put out.
I think it was since then, autumn became a sad season, and every single year, right around the Moon Festival, I had this mixed feelings towards this holiday. 

As I grew up and left home, packed my bags and came to America, I realized more each year, how precious those childhood memories were to me. Perhaps I grew up too fast. Perhaps I had no other way but growing up. The year when I turned fourteen a man almost twice of my age became somewhat a great influence in my life. His guidance and image still somewhat locked in my memory bank, so rare, so precious yet so forbidden, his tanned face and his cigarettes, his poems and endless letters, became somewhat an escape from a broken family. And just think that if I stayed, and went to college nearby, my life would be completely different than the one I have now. 

Every year I'd managed to forget about celebrating the Moon Festival. For one, Moon Cake became rather expensive, a good one ran anywhere from 5 dollars to 10 dollars, and for two, most places I've traveled to had no oriental stores that sold Moon Cakes. And as far as my heart goes, it drifted. I have mixed feelings about the autumn. I love the sadness, the ending of life, yet I dreaded what it brings to me. Sad memories, old or new.

Last autumn was a rather devastating one. Though I wish I could have known it more. It was the year of Rat, in the Chinese Feng Shui, it said whenever the year that you were born repeats (which happens every 12 years), you would face tragic, difficulties, sadness and disappointment. That of course can supposedly be offset if you worn something in red all the time. Mom went to a fortune teller, who told her that her daughter was born with peach flower fate, the type which will lead her falling into love many times but resulting tragic endings. "She can't possibly avoid that, she was born like a peach flower, she will meet many pursuers, one of which will break her heart this year severely and she won't be able to recover it for a long time. None of the pursuers this year would really care for her as a husband to a wife. They want her for an unclean reason. If she doesn't get married when she was twenty-three, her next marriage potential will arise when she turns twenty-seven. Do not push her to get married anytime soon now, or you'd never see her happy again." I read the letter and laughed. 

"How ridiculous! I am an American now, I don't listen to Fortune Tellers." I told my friends about it and shrugged it off like the letter never existed. But a few months later when I cried that one night, on the phone with my mother, I remembered that piece of letter covered still in a red envelop, arrived a few months early, with a small red thread hanging, and I took it out, this time, out of respect & out of curiosity. Since then I wore the red thread everywhere I went that year, and avoided giving out feelings again so easily.

It has been a relatively smooth year. I gather my "beng ming nian" - (every twelve lunar years since one was born is called "beng ming nian"), has been passed, with much heartache to reconcile still, but no major turbulence. Could it all that possibly be an attribution to the red thread?

"This is really the first Moon Festival I ever had in the states." I told my guest. He listened and smiled, a boyish smile always, and he reached over and grabbed my hand. Seeing the saddened face I had, he was always sensitive enough to break the mood by switching the topic. "Hey let's go climb the hills and watch the moon from the tennis court."
We cleaned the table and climbed up the hill just out side of my townhouse. The wind had died down, the hill presented a 180-degree of view, millions of lights were lid, far away, the traffic was moving slowly. There were million dollar houses sitting atop of the hill, with white large deck standing outside, over looking at this spectacular view of Peninsula. I looked up and there it was, the full moon, the roundest moon of the whole year, bright, shining. Once again, I found the fairy lady, the rabbit, the tree and the old man. I wonder what they were doing that night, and those childhood memories were vivid, so vivid if I could just extend my arms I'd grab and hold them tight, and this time I won't let it slip away - no more tragedies, no more heartaches, no more tears and no more sad endings. 

Somewhere I heard a voice...

"If I could just let it go, and pretend all that have happened never did happen, will you love me again?"

...so quiet was the night, so bright was the moon...

I extended my arms and stretched. I used the over sized sleeves to cover my eyes, facing the wind, silence surrounded us. 

"It was the wind". I would have lied if he asked, "why are you crying?"