Letter #8 – The Dysfunctional Conversation

Letter #8

The Dysfunctional Conversation

 

I want to see every full moon, from every place you travel, with your eyes.

 

It has been eight months now.
Three thousand miles away from our hometown.

From you.

Here I am, sitting on the front porch stairs.
Keeping a promise I once made.
To tell the story of every full moon.

To you.

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I am in the northwest edge of the country you always want to visit, you once told me. It is the fifteenth day of the eighth month of the lunar calendar. We, I and all the people in this town, are celebrating the Mid-Autumn Moon Festival tonight.

No, not me exactly. It is just all the people in the town.
Every boy, girl, father, mother, kids, and family member.
Every single one, except me.

While the town square is packed with joy, and laughter is filling the air, and happiness is blowing along with the wind, I prefer having a dysfunctional conversation with the moon.

Don’t laugh!

At this very moment, from where I sit, the moon looks larger and brighter than I have ever seen anywhere. I feel somewhat happy, just by looking at it. Almost the same way I feel somewhat happy, just by looking at you.

Maybe you were right at all times.

The moon resembles all the memories you possessed. All the faces you long for, all the conversation you had, all the music you once listened, all the warmth feeling from a hug. The moon is a diary, or mix tape, or a time machine, or a photo album. If you want to be reminded of something, someone, all you have to do is to look at the moon.

Maybe, you were right at all times.

The moon, it always smiles for someone you love and it sideways for you, you once said. I really wish that you are seeing it as large and bright as I am now. I want you to feel somewhat happy, just by looking at it. I want you to see the full moon I see, from every place I travel, by yourself.

I really want it to turn its face to your side, to smile for you. I don’t care if it sideways for me. As long as that means you can read this letter.

Oh, did I mention that this letter is written all over the moon?

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Do you notice that this letter is the whole dysfunctional conversation I had with the moon all about? ­

 

 

~

Sapa, Northwest Vietnam, Tết Trung Thu.

Love,
Alana

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