Howling at the moon

On the 15th of the eight month in the chinese calendar, my family and I celebrate the Mooncake Festival.



The evening's festivities would usually begin around 8pm after we've had dinner and the dishes were washed and the laundry was done.

My mom and I would dig out the past years' chinese lanterns, accumulated since I was 9 and proceed to our terrace where metal wires have been tied from one pillar to another.

I would then proceed to bully my sis and two younger brothers into helping me hang them up, keeping up a race between human and lantern to see if we could manage to keep all the lanterns lit; and when that moment came, we would all sit back on the rotan chairs that are older than I am, wait for mom to come out with her choice of mooncakes this year, and take the glow in.

Dad, usually distant and chained to his chair in front of the TV, would join us, just for tonight.

And we would talk; daughters, father, sons, mother, until the last candle has been burnt and the last lantern's glow dims.

And we would all try to shy away from the task of cleaning up the candle wax on the tiles, and packing up the lanterns and wires for another year.

And usually, the task would fall to me. Eldest what.

But not this year.

I'm not home.