Shadows at Home
Long ago, in the misty hills of Kerinci, Jambi, a little girl lived with her family in a modest wooden house surrounded by dense forests. She was the youngest of six—her parents, an older brother, and her grandparents filled the rooms, yet the house felt empty to her heart.
The little girl carried a quiet sadness. Her days passed unnoticed; her family, busy with their own lives, rarely paused for her. Her laughter was soft, almost invisible, and often she felt like a shadow wandering among the bustling lives of those around her.
Her father and grandfather were fishermen. Each morning, they would leave before dawn, paddling into the thick morning mist to cast their nets. By evening, they returned with baskets heavy with silver fish glinting like tiny moons. Some fish would be sold at the market, the rest served for meals.
The little girl loved fish—not just for its taste, but for the small moment of connection it brought her to her father and grandfather. Each time she heard their canoe scraping against the riverbank, her heart fluttered. She would wait anxiously by the door, imagining the shining fish in their baskets, hoping today they would bring enough to fill her tiny hopes as well.
Waiting for Dinner
One day, the father and grandfather returned from the river with baskets brimming with silver fish. Some would be sold at the market, but there were plenty left for the family. The little girl’s eyes sparkled when she saw them. Her heart leapt—tonight, she would finally eat the fish she had been dreaming of all day.
But there was a problem. She was too small to prepare the fish herself. She could not clean or cook them yet, and the aroma of dinner still had to wait.
“Mother, I’m hungry. When will the fish be ready?” she asked, her voice soft but eager.
“I’m busy,” her mother replied without looking up. “Ask your father to prepare the fish.”
So the little girl ran to her father. “Father, I’m hungry. When will the fish be ready?”
He wiped his hands on his worn shirt and shook his head. “I’m busy. Ask your grandfather to prepare the fish.”
The little girl’s excitement began to fade, replaced by a familiar ache of disappointment. She glanced at the baskets of shimmering fish, her stomach growling, and felt the quiet, heavy weight of being overlooked once again.
No One to Help
The little girl ran to her grandfather, her small feet pattering across the wooden floor. “Grandfather, I’m hungry. When will the fish be ready?”
Her grandfather, still sorting the fish, barely looked up. “I’m busy. Ask your grandmother to prepare the fish.”
Hope flickering, she hurried to her grandmother. “Grandmother, I’m hungry. When will the fish be ready?”
Her grandmother, weaving a basket by the doorway, shook her head. “I’m busy. Ask your brother to prepare the fish.”
Finally, she turned to her older brother, her voice trembling with hunger and a little desperation. “Brother, I’m hungry. When will the fish be ready?”
He shrugged, busy with his own chores. “I’m busy. Why don’t you prepare it yourself?”
The little girl’s heart sank. She stared at the shining fish in the baskets, the silver scales glinting like tiny moons under the fading sunlight. Everyone in the house seemed too busy for her—too busy to notice her small hunger, her small hopes. For the first time that evening, tears pricked her eyes. She wanted the fish—not just for herself, but for the warmth that sharing a meal could bring.
But tonight, the warmth would not come.
The Little Girl and the Moon
The little girl sat on a large stone outside, her small body trembling with sadness. She was hungry, lonely, and her heart ached from being overlooked. Quiet tears ran down her cheeks. Then, softly, she began to sing a song—her voice trembling, yet filled with hope:
“Get higher the stone. Let my parents be happy.”
“Get higher the stone. Let my grandparents be happy.”
“Get higher the stone. Let my brother be happy.”
To her amazement, the stone beneath her began to rise. Slowly, gently, it lifted higher and higher, until it reached the moon itself. With a single step, the little girl stood upon its glowing surface, feeling the cool, silvery light wrap around her like a warm embrace.
She kicked the stone—and it cracked, breaking into pieces. The largest fragment remained in her village, standing tall as a silent witness to her courage.
From that day on, the village became known as High Stone Village, or Dusun Batu Panjang. And even now, people say that when the full moon shines, you can see the image of a little girl smiling down at the earth, a reminder of hope, courage, and the quiet magic that lives in a determined heart.
Moral Message:
Even in loneliness and hardship, courage, hope, and a kind heart can create magic and leave a lasting impact on the world.
Did You Know? – Moon Shadows Around the World
Many cultures have stories about shadows or figures on the moon. This happens because the moon’s surface has shapes and patterns that people interpret differently, and its distant, mysterious glow sparks imagination.
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In Indonesia, some legends tell of a little girl on the moon waiting for her family.
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In China, Chang’e, the Moon Goddess, lives on the moon after drinking an elixir of immortality.
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In Japan, Kaguya-hime, a moon princess, had to return home, leaving the earth behind.
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In Western folklore, the “Man in the Moon” is a shadowy figure seen on the moon’s face.
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In Mesoamerica, the moon is sometimes depicted as a dancing or crying goddess.
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In some African tales, humans or animals were thrown into the sky, creating the moon and its shadow.
Why so many versions?
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The moon looks mysterious and distant, inspiring wonder.
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People interpret its shadows differently depending on culture and imagination.
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Oral traditions allow local values, morals, and symbolism to shape each story uniquely.
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