The yellow moon's fading scent

It's as if midnight was swallowed by the overwhelming ardor of the moon.

The moon was beaming at me, awakening a soul that was once lost in wonder and wishful thinking. As the moon trails our car amidst the orange-coated road, it has finally dawned into me: I am growing up, and the master of time never permits any disturbance to halt its invisible string and arrows.

Then I felt sad, like the moon who only shines at night, contented on borrowing a bit of light from the life-giving sun. As the hands of time stretch through eternity, I hated myself for not being the sun, casting a guilty shadow behind borrowed radiance. I felt morose like a dragonfly who keeps on flying without knowing where he is supposed to come home. I felt youthful exuberance slip from my "tight gripping" hands.


At Christmas, we used to sing Christmas carols, grill barbecues,  and craft holiday cards with awful (horrible, I should say) drawings of a laughing Santa Claus with his trusty reindeer, Sandy (I've always thought of Sandy—my imaginary reindeer friend— as Santa's right hand, I'm sorry Rudolph). I remember texting a heartfelt Christmas message to my mom before indulging every food on our noche buena table. I never really had noche buena with my parents, they always arrive late at dawn every 25th. It's not sad actually, at least we get to spend more time the next day while opening tons of presents with the little kids.

This Christmas, it seems like Santa rolled the dice thrice more and laughed way too hard while playing with it.

My excitement for the holidays decreases as each year zooms in until I finally admitted that Santa does not exist, and Sandy was only a figment of my childish imagination. I get less presents, and I would rather stay in my room than mingle with a clutter of people preparing food.

And then I realized I was growing up, and I hated the feeling.

I hated how I don't make Christmas cards for my cousins and grandmother anymore. I hated how I managed to miss grilling barbecue beneath the glimmer of what I called "first stars" (which I later knew were planets, damn). I hated how I discovered that the exuberant moon does not really follow my steps. And then my hopes were drowning in a puddle.

This is where I wanted to be when I was a little kid. Free from the stringencies my parents impose. Free from being scolded after sneaking out to play with my friends instead of taking a nap. Free from curfews and late night nagging. Free from belt, or slipper (you name it, my butt endured it) spanking. Free from crying because dad would switch channels from The Fairly Odd Parents to a stupid basketball game. Free from being shouted at if I enter our door late. Free from sermons if I didn't achieve what I'm supposed to reach.

I never expected this day to come, this day when I would hate being a teenager, this day when I would hate being a stuck-up 17-year-old with loads of problems.

I want to become a kid again and spend holidays with a whiff of enthusiasm. I want to kiss my parents without being embarrassed and judged. I wish I could return those bountiful days when my biggest problem was choosing the perfect color from a 64-piece crayon set.

But guess what, the moon would soon fade its light. The sun would burst into million pieces, wholly swallowing our solar system. I don't mean to be pessimistic—I mean to be realistic, but everyone would wither and that's what I am afraid of, withering. I don't want to wither like those flowers with petals blown by a strong wind, rather, by time.

Soon, I would get a job, and pay taxes, and build a family. Soon, I would receive pension, and all of these present happenings would be faded memories. But I know I would always remember the moon following me, I don't care about the realm of science at this instance. The moon would always be my hope, my inspiration that despite borrowing a lot from the sun, I could still light up the world during its darkest hours. And that's where I'm heading on, becoming the light amidst the dark, I want to mark the world with my words, and I would let the moon guide me until I wither.

originally posted here.