Today is the Mid-Autumn Festival. The moon is supposed to be at its fullest, but its been raining, so we can’t see it.
It’s a great time to finish the short story that I’ve been writing, the one about my Grandfather.
When I get home from work, the table is already laid out with roast duck, pork rib soup, and The Ant Noodle (the name my dad came up for a dish he’s made since I was a child.) There is a festive vibe in the air that reminds me of family, that’s why it’s a good day to write about my grandfather.
After dinner, I have a conversation with my mum about my writing dreams, conversations I’m getting more comfortable talking about in front of my family.
I tell her I’ve saved up enough money to work part-time so that I can focus on my writing. I write almost everyday, but I haven’t made substantial growth, because of time itself.
Still, my mum says that I’m not ready.
Sometimes I just want to take a leap of faith and deal with whatever comes my way, but I’m a little too sensible for that.
I feel like the moon tonight, covered, when it should be full and brilliant.