“The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human.
Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.”
— Tahereh Mafi
Have I told you? I am a look-at-the-moon person. Gazing at the moon brings me back to the present. The moon is my therapist, my pet, my confidante. The child who thought that the moon followed me as I moved, still lives in me; I allow the child to seek solace in that lie. A harmless indulgence all the same.
I was lucky last night. I was offered a seat by the window in my office cab. I leaned on the window and trained my eyes on the moon that seemed extraordinarily bright. Was it me who found the moon brighter? Or was it the moon itself? I would never know.
The humble beauty was not alone. An arrogant star was beside my silent friend. The star seemed to tease me. “Hey! See! See! I am right next to your friend, basking in his flattering light. Where are you? Locked up in a car?” the star laughed. Little did that star know that I am incurably in love with both of them. Little did he know that they complement each other. Stars and their haughtiness. Sigh!
The moon and the star followed me. I couldn’t blink. I couldn’t stop smiling.Enchanted.
The clouds decided to leave the night for me. They chose to wander elsewhere. Bless their souls!
I broke my reverie when I found another tiny star next to the snobbish one. The baby star must have tried to keep herself invisible. Much to her dismay, I spotted her and sent her my thanks. Because I recognised her existence, she joined the party. Reluctantly.
Now, as my car tore the highway winds, as the ruthless headlights dispelled the darkness, I continued to look at my friends — the humble moon, the arrogant star, and the grudging star. Some group!
The moon smiled. The naughty one smirked. The baby star sulked. They were all beautiful in their own ways.
An urge surfaced in me. I wanted to ask my fellow-passenger to say hello to my friends. But I dismissed the impulse. That moment was mine. Private. Precious.
The car flew faster and of course, my bosom friends followed me effortlessly. Their travel reminded me of several scenes.
They looked like they were holding hands and moving sideways as though they were bidding adieu to their cousin leaving on a train after spending her summer vacation with them.
The baby star was dragging the bigger one and the moon. Like a determined child pulling her parents into a toy-shop.
The stars looked like dogs who were pulling a sledge over snow. And the moon, a jolly rider.
I could give them myriad roles and make my imagination more vivid. But my short journey ended.
I looked at them again for the last time that night. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and captured that memory to immortalise it here later. As I ascended the staircase to my home, I reminded myself to pin a thought down in my journal — I am never truly alone when I am followed by the luminous moon, the smug star, and their shy little friend.
I belong to them. They to me.