August, Someday, Moonlight

I had never sensed the moon’s presence until coming to Stony Brook. tainted by the artificial light, the night of Guangzhou was hypocritical. I could only recall the LED lights of Canton Tower and the sky that changed color as the advertisement ran, the dust visible under the emission of rays. I have listened to the cliche about the moon through literature. The Moon is nostalgic. “Through miles apart, we'll share the beauty she displays.” The Moon is also noble. Natsume Sōseki connected the moonlight to love, much like how Eileen Chang described the "white moonlight,"—a beauty so pure and unreachable. But Chang added a touch of regret: something that can never be grasped, yet always lingers in the heart; when Maugham wrote The Moon and Sixpence, he must have regarded the moon as the highest, most transcendent ideal. But when Hagiwara Sakutarō wrote about the moon in his poem collection Howling at the Moon, he saw only desolation and eeriness. The moon became a pale ghost, impossible to shake off, much like his sorrowful past—desolate and mournful. After all, I could never grasp the symbolism of the misty, intangible moon.

Again at night, someday in March. Powerlessness arose as 9:15 approached, a regret of the wasted time and a fear of the incoming exams. I sighed as I walked out of Gaebelein and stretched my body, still pondering about the exam questions—accidentally placing my eyes on the moon.

My thoughts stopped. I could sense the heartbeat rising, pumping the blood circulating the body for that moment, but it soon returned to peace and brought away the apprehension. As the others who left the Learning Commons gradually dispersed, the few lights in the surrounding buildings cast their glow on the campus. Without the noise of the world, it feels as if only I am talking to the moon. The gentle moonlight poured down like a comforting touch, soothing the gloom in my heart, steadying my trembling heart until it returned to its normal rhythm and infusing a trace of warmth into it. I still can’t enunciate its meaning, but it was a blessing to have a shelter like this, thinking about anything or nothing.

Henceforth that night, I never left the moon. There are times when an inexplicable sense of dread comes and clings to me like a shadow..I don’t want to blend into the crowd, yet I have nowhere to go. Whenever this happens, I feel the urge to look for the moon. On occasion, I confide in the moon, trying to untangle my thoughts; other times, I simply want to do nothing but absorb the moon's tranquility, slowly calming down under its light. The walk from the Learning Commons to Johnston takes only about three minutes, but I linger, dragging out the journey, reluctant to leave the sight of the moon. I recall Hagiwara Sakutarō's words:

"I want to pin my melancholy shadow on the land of the moonlit night. In this way, the shadow will not chase after me forever."

Shadows cannot be nailed. But I still walk that path a thousand times over, night after night, under the moonlight, knowing that the moon is still quietly hanging in the sky. Isn't that enough?

Sometimes, a part of it is missing, sometimes it's obscured by clouds, and not a trace of moonlight seeps through—only the streetlights remain. Days pass, and the moon changes. Once, after coming out, I couldn't see the moon in its usual spot, and I felt a sudden unease, frantically searching for it. "It's there," a security guard on duty pointed behind me and said, "The moon, right?" I looked back, and there she was, quietly sitting in the lonesome sky, listening as she always did, nothing had changed. The full moon inevitably returns.

Still walking, I find myself under the Johnston building, hearing the commotion from the dorm prayer upstairs and occasionally attendance being taken. I can't quite say whether I want to go back. I'm reluctant to leave the moon's embrace, but faintly, even though I don’t fully understand it yet, I know I must return to the sunlight, to the crowd. In less than a year, I will no longer be able to walk this path and gaze at the moon; I don’t know yet if I’ll be able to see the moon from where I’ll be a year from now. Still lost, but still walking under the moonlight.