The evening air was filled with the soft scent of incense and freshly cut flowers. In the kitchen, Mom was bustling about, her hands moving quickly as she arranged fruits, sweets, and candles on a large silver tray. The full moon ceremony was a special tradition in their family, and this month, Lala had decided she would be Mom’s helper.
“Here, Lala,” Mom said with a smile, handing her a basket of bright yellow chrysanthemums. “These go in the vase for the altar.” Lala took them carefully, her little fingers arranging the petals so none were bent. She stepped back to admire her work and grinned—perfect.
Next came the fruits. Lala polished the apples until they shone, stacked the oranges into a neat pyramid, and placed a bunch of grapes just so, making sure not a single one rolled away. She even insisted on taste-testing one tiny grape “to make sure it’s sweet enough for the moon,” earning a playful laugh from Mom.
They moved to the balcony, where the soft glow of lanterns lit the space. Mom unfolded a delicate embroidered cloth and spread it over the small ceremonial table. Lala placed each offering with care—the flowers in the center, fruits to the right, sweets to the left, and candles in front.
As the moon began to rise, round and golden, Mom lit the incense. Together, they stood in silence for a moment, the gentle smoke curling into the night sky. Lala’s eyes sparkled as she whispered, “It’s so beautiful, Mom.”
Mom placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It is. And it’s even more special because you helped.”
When the prayers were done, they sat together, sipping tea and sharing mooncakes, the soft light of the full moon wrapping them in warmth. For Lala, helping Mom wasn’t just about preparing things—it was about feeling part of something meaningful, a tradition that connected them to family, love, and the beauty of the moon above.
