Shivering Hope

Grandmother looked at an old photograph of her dear friend, Annabelle. She put it down and said “Annabelle was a sad girl. People in town called her the girl who fell in love with a shooting star. We all knew once a shooting star had passed us by, that was it. It would never return. She was in love with something that would never be hers and was never really hers to begin with. She was a foolish woman, that Annabelle.” Grandmother smiled a sad smile and looked out the windows. The snow had melted and spring was knocking on the door. What that was had gone and things will never be the same again.

I looked at grandmother’s eyes and I saw traces of sorrow. It was true that no matter how hard one tried to hide and wipe away pain, it would creep up on you and drop by for a quiet visit once in a while. Even grandmother, with so many practices over the years, couldn't hide the pain that still lingered in her eyes when she thought nobody was looking. I wondered if she was really talking about Annabelle or the story she had just told me was actually hers.

“I think she was luckier than the girl who fell in love with the moon,” I said.
“The moon? Luckier?” grandmother asks.

“Oh yes, she was. At least Annabelle knew that the shooting star she loved so deeply was not returning to her embrace. At least she had the chance to move on. But the girl who was in love with the moon was always hoping and waiting. Every night, when the moon appeared and casted its soft amber light on her bedroom windows, she couldn't help herself but to think that she could finally reach the moon, her one true love. Of course, she couldn't and the moon would always disappears into the horizon when daybreak came. Soon enough, disappointment became her closest friend - along with heartache and despair. They stayed friends for life."

Grandmother said nothing and continued to stare at the clear blue sky, as if a shooting star might suddenly pass us by, although it was only noon. Looking at my grandmother, I suddenly realised that I was not alone. Maybe the girl who was in love with the moon lived in every woman who's heart was taken. No matter what people said, no matter what fate and logic told us, a part of us would always be waiting and hoping – hoping with a fragile hope.