Eine Kurzgeschichte über die Sehnsucht nach Zugehörigkeit von Juliania Bumazhnova.
“I wasn’t born home, you know?” I said. “So how am I supposed to get back to myself, if there’s nothing to go back to?”.
Nora sighed. “I know… I know…”.
On the Moon, the sun feels differently than it does on Earth, my mother explained to me when I was little. Here, it burns. Here, there’s no wind to cool you down. Here, the sky is always black – even during “daytime.”
But on Earth, it was different. You didn’t need to hide underground to survive the temperatures. You could walk outside and the sunlight would wrap around you like a soft shawl. There was warmth – but there was also wind, cooling you down with care. And the colours! There were colours! Bright green, blue, red!
On the Moon, we have only greys, whites, silvers. We live in a world of shadows.
I always knew I didn’t belong here. But where? Where was this place of my true belonging?
My mother had left Earth long ago. We had nothing to return to. The stories I grew up with felt mythical. They made my soul ache. I never knew if I wanted more – or if I should stop listening altogether. I continued listening.
Yes, of course there had been the Great War—the one that destroyed everything. Driven by hate and greed, the Earthlings had taken their planet for granted. They exploited it until there was nothing left. If only they had one more chance, I often thought, to appreciate, to reconcile, to honor. But of course, it was already too late.
“You wouldn’t have wanted to be there in those final years,” my mother would say, her eyes clouded with sorrow, as if trying to anchor me back to reality. “It was devastating.” I believed her. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from being spellbound by planet Earth.
Apparently, gravity on Earth was six times stronger than on the Moon. They said it made you feel rooted—like the planet was holding you. Welcoming you. Wanting you.
My younger sister, Nora, didn’t understand my longing. She thought the weight sounded oppressive.
“Don’t you like floating?” she’d ask. “Being so free in your movements?”
I wouldn’t answer. I’d just stare into the dark stretch of space outside our window.
“This is the only home we’ve got, Noah” she said one night, voice firmer than usual. “I’d really appreciate it if—for once—you’d try to see what we do have. We’re alive. We go to school. We have food. We have each other. Friends. That’s… a lot.”
I sighed and pulled her into a hug. But I didn’t want to agree.
How could this really be all there was?
The teachers explained to us, that there was hope. Engineers and scientists were working on transporting us to Mars. They talked about how the Moon was just a stepping stone, to something bigger, better, greater. They would say the Moon was something temporary. A waiting room. But they never told us how long it would take.
—
Life between Earth and Mars is lonely, rootless, sometimes hopeless. Still, deep within me, there’s a quiet belief that someday—though I don’t know when, and I don’t know where—I will find my place, my homeland. Until then, I will keep floating, waiting for my feet to finally land.