It’s become normal, not being normal. I stopped waiting for the lantern a long time ago. Most get it by the time they’re eighteen, some late bloomers not till nearly twenty two, then there are those who get nervous, but it always comes by twenty five; but never for me.

I turned thirty this year. It no longer bothers me when people stare. I know who I am, I don’t need the lantern to prove it to anyone. In the dark though, late at night, I won’t lie, the thoughts start to creep in.

People think I’m different. People think I’m selfish. People think I’m cold. People think I lack compassion. People whisper I’m unworthy. People assume I’m uncaring. People speculate I’m incapable of kindness. People judge me as uncharitable. People deem me unfit for benevolence. All because a lantern never graced my doorstep.

You see, when the lantern comes, that means there is a wish for you to grant. It could be for your mother or your baker or even an epic journey away to a small boy who lives a continent away. It’s this moment that my world judges kindness on. The ability to grant a wish and somehow everyone knows you’re kind. When you grant a wish, suddenly your wishes start all coming true. It’s a cycle really. There’s always wishes being sent out and wishes being given, but without ever granting one, there are no wishes for you.

So I grant no wish. I get no wish.

That doesn’t stop me from trying though. I bring meals to the poor people I pass on my way to work, I give away every spare fraction of a cent I have, I anticipate peoples needs, have gifts sent to their doors, whatever they need, I’m there, but they still glance at me with their judging eyes.

“Why is she even doing this” they whisper to each other.

“We know she doesn’t mean it, we know she’s trying to manipulate us.”

The more I do, the more they assume it’s from a place of malice rather than the true kindness of my heart. I cry, but at the end of the day, I know my kindness is pure.

——-

Every year for the summer solstice we have a Festival of Lights. We celebrate the longest day of the year by making it longer. When the sun goes down, lanterns and lights and candles shine through our village.

I try to stay away from the festivals and other large gatherings. It’s okay to be around people in small groups, but when it’s all of them - it’s so overwhelming. Too many judging eyes, too many whispers, too many times I speak and hear nothing in return. Well, except for from my sister.

My sister listens and sometimes she even responds but it’s crazy when she talks to me with them all there because in that brief moment it’s almost like they don’t see or hear her either. It’s just us. And then she responds to someone else and the conversation keeps going. I am alone again.

She’s the one that convinced me to go to the festival. She was always convincing me to do something. Like that summer I got trampled on in a fairy pit or last year when we seemed to get a new piercing every month.

The night felt the same.. I guess? It looked the same. The people were the same. The air though.. the air felt different. I could smell it.

“Do you smell that, Peek?”

My sister looked at me confused; like she very often did. She wasn’t the brightest, so often if she didn’t understand what I said she’d get insecure.

I quickly realized she didn’t smell it and didn’t want to stress it too much. I’m already strange enough, I don’t need to be pointing out weird smells. It was there all night though.

It became unbearable at some point. I had to get away. I felt bad leaving my sister who had been spending the whole night with me. I felt an obligation to her as she was the only one who seemed to feel any obligation towards me.

“I’m getting umcomfy, I think I’m gonna head home”

“Already? The night is still young! The lights are still out! We have to watch the sun come up!”

“No really, I want you to enjoy the night with your friends and our family. I’ll be happier at home and you won’t be stuck babysitting me”

She sighed. I knew she wanted to protest more but she knew there was no point. I’ve accepted myself as an outsider long ago and she was used to me positioning myself as such.

I bid my sister farewell and headed up the hill to my home. I planned on grabbing a book, sitting by the fire, and staring at it for hours pretending I’m reading while spiraling in my head.

And that’s just what I did, well at least for a little while..

I was reading the first page of the book for about the hundred and twenty seventh time when I heard something outside my front door.

A soft thud echoed from the front step. It was gentle, almost cautious. Not the careless drop of a festival leftover or the scramble of a creature drawn by the scent of crumbs. It was deliberate. A silent plea for attention.

I tried to ignore it, to lose myself in the words on the page, but curiosity wound tight around my thoughts, drawing them inevitably to the mystery lying just outside. With each moment I resisted, the pull grew stronger until it was all I could feel—a silent call that resonated with the hidden corners of my soul. And then i could smell it.. the smell from the festival.. what is that?

Reluctantly, I rose, the book slipping from my fingers, forgotten.

When I opened the door, the world held its breath.

A lantern, glowing softly in the moonlight, rested on my doorstep. A beacon in the night made just for me. My heart leaped-an unexpected guest bearing the promise of belonging, of finally being seen. I could almost hear the cheers, feel the warmth of eyes turned toward me with admiration instead of judgment.

A lantern? On my porch? For me? A flood of elation washed over me. I get to grant a wish? The very thought set my heart racing with joy. I clutched the lantern, imagining the endless possibilities, the wishes I could fulfill, the joy I could bring. I saw myself in a new light, the bearer of hope, a bringer of joy, a fulfiller of dreams. I could already feel the warm embrace of a community that had finally accepted me.

They will let me love them.

They will love me.

My mind starts to slow.

They will love me?

Finally?

Then, the shadow of doubt crept over my bright dreams. Would this change anything, really? Would fulfilling a wish truly alter how they see me, or just tick a box in their checklist of what it means to exist in this world? My past efforts, all genuine and heartfelt, had been overlooked and dismissed. Why should their doubts define my worth?

Holding the lantern, its weight seemed to grow with every passing moment of realization. Was their conditional acceptance really worth pursuing? Why must their skepticism determine the value of my actions?

I have spent my whole life trying to get everyone to see me, to really see me, to see how much I care, but it was never enough. If it wasn’t the lantern, then it didn’t matter.

But now I have this opportunity. I can change it. I can be seen.

But will I be seen? Or will they simply see me fulfilling their societal standard and finally feel comfortable with my existence.

I was so excited just moments ago, but now I’m not so sure.

I don’t want to do some grand gesture to get their approval. I don’t need to do this to prove who I am to anyone.

I know who I am.

My sister knows who I am.

I don’t need anyone else to.

I stare at it a moment more. I think I’m in mourning? I’m trying not to cry but how do you not when you’re saying goodbye.

Saying goodbye to everything you thought you had to be. Saying goodbye to a version of yourself that will never exist. Saying goodbye to everyone who will never love you.

I let myself mourn. I take a few moments. I shed my tears.

Then I close the door, return to my chair, open my book, and I began to read.