My Grandmother, the Goddess, and the Bunny on the Moon

《靜夜思》 李 白

床前明月光，疑是地上霜。
舉頭望明月，低頭思故鄉。

“Quiet Night Thought” (Chinese poem translated into English)

“Bright moonlight before my bed;
I suppose it is frost on the ground.
I raise my head to view the bright moon,
then lower it, thinking of my home village.”

“Do you see the bunny on the moon?” Ah Ma asked nine-year-old me. I looked at my paternal grandmother’s face—she was so beautiful at any age. In her sixties, her cheeks were blushed and her lips bright red—her favorite lipstick from Clinique. Her white hair, a lovely puff of clouds above her head.

With my older sister and ZeZe (my grandfather), we sat on the rooftop of my grandparents’ apartment building, the cool Montreal autumn night air swirling around us. During the summers, we watched fireworks there, and around the Mid-Autumn Festival, we watched the full moon while we listened to Ah Ma’s stories and ate her homemade mooncakes.

I turned to gaze at the bright full moon above Montreal’s Chinatown. Squinting, I could make out the shape of the Jade Rabbit and his mistress, Chang’e (嫦娥), the Chinese goddess who lived on the moon.

“How does she breathe in space?” I asked Ah Ma. “Does she have a spacesuit?”

Ah Ma chuckled and shook her head. “She’s a magical goddess, dear Ka Lay. And goddesses don’t need spacesuits on the moon.”

According to Chinese mythology, Chang’e was a mortal thousands of years ago, but she took an elixir and became a goddess. Right before she floated away to the moon, she grabbed her pet bunny. Every year, her husband, Hou Yi, would leave out pastries, like mooncakes, to celebrate and remember his wife during the Mid-Autumn Festival. While there are many versions of the story about the goddess on the moon, this was my favorite, as it was the version Ah Ma told me.

I looked at the piggy-shaped mooncake Ah Ma handed to me. She had meticulously made it and a dozen others the night before with her arthritic hands. The mooncake was shiny, and it looked so happy, a little too happy to be eaten. Biting through the crust and lotus paste, my teeth finally sank into the salted egg yolk in the middle. I savored its richness as it melted in my mouth.

I wiped the crumbs from my lips and dress and pointed to the colorful paper lantern Ah Ma and I had won earlier that evening at a Chinatown night market.

“Can we light the candle?” I swung my lantern. Ah Ma and ZeZe nodded, and ZeZe lit the lantern for me. The lantern glowed softly in the night. Holding it felt magical, as if I was transported to ancient China, when Chang’e was just a human Chinese girl like me.

For centuries and longer, those who celebrated the Mid-Autumn Festival did so with family and loved ones beneath a full moon, telling tales of Chang’e, her husband’s undying affections, and her pet rabbit. That togetherness, along with good food and mooncakes, reminded us that we were home, wherever we were geographically, and that we were loved.

As the Mid-Autumn Festival approaches, I long for those nights with Ah Ma, for the warmth of her stories and the taste of her mooncakes. ZeZe is no longer around, and Ah Ma still lives in Montreal in a nursing home, far from Seattle, where I now live. Despite this, we live under the same bright moon, and my heart is with her, no matter how far apart we may be.

How To Celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival With Mooncakes

My Mid-Autumn Festival celebrations look a little different these days, but I’m always reminded of Ah Ma, with her mooncakes and stories. I wish I had her wooden piggy molds, but I have settled for plastic ones I bought from Amazon.

If you’re looking to celebrate with mooncakes this Mid-Autumn Festival, you should be able to find them in Chinese and Asian supermarkets throughout September.