चाँद में दाग़ हैं - Even the moon has a scar.

After school tonight, a most spectacular sight could be seen in the sky. The autumn harvest moon arose over the treetops, lighting up the atmosphere with its golden glow. As soon as I got home, I dropped my school bags and grabbed my camera. I wanted – nay – needed to take a picture of it.

But when I stepped into the night, the trees and houses surrounding my house blocked my view of the sky. I began to walk down the street, squinting up into the darkness in hopes of catching another glimpse of the beautiful fiery sphere. I couldn’t find it, even when I began to walk out of town and into the field where the old green factory used to be. So I turned back.

Just as I was about to turn the corner onto my street, I saw it. It was just beyond the rooftops of the houses, a few blocks north. And I’m not really sure what came over me, but I started sprinting towards it. I’m not really a runner, mind you. And my pants kept falling down. But I needed to save this moon. I needed to remember it and capture it on film forever. It needed to be mine, mine, mine! I came to the field on the opposite side of town, all out of breath, raised my camera to the sky and –

Oh, crap.

I forgot my memory card!

How was I supposed to remember this forever?

And then I stopped. What about forever? I have this beautiful sky in front of me right now. If I don’t appreciate it in this moment, why do I think I would appreciate it later?

And so I put my camera back in my pocket, and just looked. In a world dependent on the immediacy of technology today, I had forgotten that some things don’t have to be so abrupt.

"चाँद में दाग़ हैं," I said to myself. Even the moon has a scar. Why these words came to me, I didn’t know, but I kept repeating them in my mind. Chand mein daagh hain. Chand mein daagh hain. Chand mein daagh hain. Everything is imperfect, yet everything is beautiful. I watched as a wispy cloud began to pass by the moon, looking like a giant eagle. Everything is imperfect, everything is beautiful.

Everything is imperfect, everything is beautiful.

The rhythm of the words began to pulse in my chest, in my gut, in my feet, and before I knew it I was running again. Running, like the wind, like the giant white eagle in the sky. Chand mein daagh hain. Chand mein daagh hain. Halloween lights and decorations passed by in a weird, wild blur. All around me I could see lit-up pumpkins and white ghosts and paper skeletons melding into one big, beautiful orange light. I was swinging with happiness and energy when I reached the back door of my home.

Everything is imperfect, everything is beautiful, and I like it this way, oh yes.