We Still Have The Moon
Illustration by Meghan Zhang
“Always remember we are under the same sky, looking at the same moon.” - Maxine Lee.
The moon’s presence, illuminated by the stars and silver light, disrupts the pitch black night sky. I regularly find myself seated outside and staring at its quiet glow, a silent companion. I sit there to feel connection, for the moon has been with me during the dreams that I cannot recite in the morning, and while my sleep-deprived mind rambles on with regrets that I toss and turn to shake out. It is a familiar feeling; the gaping ache and longing for someone you know cannot be reached, regardless of how wholeheartedly you wish they could be or how late it keeps you up at night. However, no matter how far away we are or how long it has been since we’ve talked, the moon is still there, and I feel connected to them through it. Knowing that it hovers above us all while shining its steady light makes me feel closer, a reminder that they are still part of my world, and we continue to share the same sky.
The moon connects me to the people far away. While on the other side of the country, I fight the longing for my home and the people who allow me to call it so. My family and friends in BC are my backbone, the foundation on which I have built my self-concept. I’ve never felt settled, being away from those who witnessed my evolution, for they are the reasons I am here and whole. Through the sleepovers, late-night snow-sculpting and campfire stories, the moon watched as my closest friends and I giggled, snuck out, scraped our knees and grew up together. It connects me to my siblings and the nieces who now keep them up all night. Late-night calls with long-distance confidantes are not comparable to deep chats in the kitchen or whispered secrets at slumber parties. But as I grow in Kingston, the FaceTimes suffice. During my first year away, my mum would call as we both made our coffee in the morning. While I stir oat milk into the bitter brew, the pot light from above casts a glow that mimics the moon as I look down in the coffee’s reflection. No matter where each of us is, we’re connected by light, tethered to the same silver star. When the world feels too big and my formative roots seem so far away, I bear in mind that we still have the moon.
The moon connects me to former friendships. The familiar strangers I talked with every day are now in radio silence. Thinking about their absence is like a bruise you keep poking at; the pain of it feels comfortable, familiar. I’m tied to who I used to be with them, even after the amity unravelled. I remember the last words I shared with her, delivered through texts instead of the notes we would pass in class. Biting words written on the white screen, a goodbye that our childhood selves would have never guessed during lunch breaks and playdates. Whatever happened to the friendship bracelet pledges and the promise of growing through life’s milestones together? Although our hands are no longer calloused from gripping onto monkey bars and expired girlhood, I can still bridge our distance, for we still have the moon.
The moon connects me to those I once trusted. I remember sitting on the beach as he cried and I comforted him, like usual. The night’s light spilled onto the rolling waves and dunes of sand. What a mess, what a waste of breath and midnight solace. While waiting for an apology that was long overdue, I gazed up at the moon before looking down at him. It's funny how a person you once orbited around can seem so small once you take them off their pedestal. I appreciate their absence; it is good that we went our separate ways. It’s not so much that I miss them, but the role they once played in my life. These dear strangers are now mere shadows cast behind me. The bright white light now radiates from a different direction, but despite our division, we still have the moon.
The moon connects me to the loved ones who have passed away. To the grandparents who met at a local dance, and those who bonded at an academic lecture. To the dear departed whose time was cut short, to those who fought until the point of surrender. To grapple with the grief, I turned to the moon at my breaking point. On what would have been his 27th birthday, one week after another beloved had passed, five months after the house was taken by the river, I ventured to the lake once my bedroom was no longer big enough to contain the grief. I turn to you, moon, because our parallel silence does not demand an explanation. Lying on the thick, snow-covered ice and looking up, the sky above me was blanketed by clouds, yet you still beamed through. I searched for that sign of connection that I have found in you time and time again. When the cloud resembling an angel’s silhouette passed over the moon, I knew they were with me, I know that you listened, and through you, they did too. The loss forms a pit that is consoled by weeping, aching and feeling everything to the point of numbness. But no matter how much it hurts to not have you here, I will always look up — and we still have the moon.