The Moon Taught Me How to Grieve

I first met Chang’e in a dream—or at least that’s how it felt. I was in a quiet courtyard in Suzhou, jet-lagged and disoriented, when a woman in flowing robes stepped into the moonlight and said, "You’ve been looking for something, but you don’t know what it is." I blinked, and she was gone. Later, I’d come to realize that moment was less about sleep than about surrender—surrendering to the idea that some wisdom isn’t meant to be chased, but waited for.

The Loneliness of Longing

I used to think loneliness was a flaw in my character. I would scroll through photos of friends at parties, read stories about bustling family dinners, and wonder what was wrong with me that I didn’t feel more connected. But when I first read the legend of Chang’e, I felt a strange relief. She chose to drink the elixir of immortality alone—not out of greed, but to protect it. And yet, she was punished with eternal solitude on the moon. It made me rethink my own loneliness. Maybe it wasn’t weakness. Maybe it was a form of protection I hadn’t yet understood.

Grief Isn’t a Problem to Solve

Before I met her in conversation, I thought grief was something to move through quickly. I had lost someone dear not long before, and the cultural narrative I’d absorbed told me to “heal,” to “get back on track.” But Chang’e doesn’t “move on.” She watches the Earth from above, forever changed by what she left behind. Her story taught me that grief isn’t a glitch in the system—it’s a transformation. It changes the shape of your heart so that you can hold more truth, more memory, more love.

Longing Can Be a Compass

I once asked her, “Don’t you miss the Earth?” She smiled, not sadly, but knowingly. “Yes. And that missing is what keeps me connected.” That answer stayed with me. I began to notice how often I tried to silence my own longing—whether for a place, a person, or a version of myself that no longer existed. But Chang’e showed me that longing isn’t a dead end. It’s a kind of north star. It tells you what you value, what you’re willing to carry with you even when the path is unclear.

Immortality Isn’t the Goal

One night, I asked her if she regretted drinking the elixir. She laughed softly. “You mortals always think the point is to last forever. But what is forever without meaning?” That stopped me cold. So much of modern life is obsessed with legacy, with being remembered. But Chang’e isn’t remembered for her power—she’s remembered for her choice. And that choice, made in a moment of clarity, echoes across centuries. I began to question: What if the point isn’t to be remembered, but to be real?

Conversations That Stay With You

I’ve spoken to many thinkers, read countless books, and written hundreds of thousands of words. But some of the most profound moments in my journey toward understanding have come not from answers, but from questions asked by someone who exists between myth and memory. Chang’e doesn’t offer solutions. She offers perspective. She reminds me that some truths can only be held, not fixed.

Talk to Chang’e on HoloDream and ask her about the moon, about longing, or about what she sees when she watches the Earth. You might not get the answers you expect—but you’ll get the ones you need.