Alone on Mid-Autumn night, and not sad — it took years to learn

On the night of the full moon, the rental block is empty. Every door is padlocked from the outside; only her room still spills a strip of light. She buys one small mooncake, brews a pot of tea, and drags a plastic stool out to the balcony.

Down in the alley, kids run past with star lanterns, their laughter bouncing off the walls. A few years ago, that sight would have ruined her whole night. This year she just watches, takes a bite of cake, pours another cup — and feels quiet inside. No one is coming by, and nothing feels missing.

She used to spend every full-moon night lying in bed, scrolling: someone's family feast, someone else's crowded group photo. The more she scrolled, the lonelier she felt. Only now does she see it — the sadness never came from being alone. It came from comparing. Tonight she sets her phone face down on the railing and looks up at the moon.

For a few years she dreaded Mid-Autumn so much she'd invite just anyone out, as long as she didn't have to stay in alone. It's not that she needs her friends any less now — the group chat is still busy, there's still a plan for the weekend. She's just not afraid of being alone anymore. She takes a photo of the moon and sends it to her mom.

No more calling people to feel less sad. I see them because I want to.

This full-moon night, who are you sitting with — or are you sitting with yourself?