A Little Christmas Tale

Today would have been my first Christmas alone.

My family went overseas for their Christmas vacation, but as for me, I still had some work I had to finish. To be honest, I never imagined a Christmas without spending it with the family since every year we always celebrated it together.

So all alone, I drove back home alone on a Christmas Eve.

Driving through all these streets, you could see children singing carols, families having a party just outside their homes, friends getting drunk in celebration, and couples holding hands on this quiet Christmas Eve.

As for me, I was to celebrate it alone.

My friends were all celebrating it with their own family, my family went to Hong Kong to celebrate, and here I was, on my car, driving to a quiet, peaceful, but lonely home.

One thing caught my eye though, a family who lived in the streets, sharing what little food they had, smiling all the way. Even though the food they had couldn’t even fill their stomachs0, their hearts were already filled. Something I was jealous about even just for a moment. They had something I didn’t have.

I finally came home, parked my car on the streets, and started preparing my Christmas “Noche Buena”.

I wondered why I bothered preparing it, since there was no meaning to prepare a banquet for myself.

But then it struck me, I wanted to do something new for Christmas. I prepared the food, with what little time I had, all I could prepare was some roast chicken, one whole Christmas ham, and a few loaves of bread.

I took two or three wooden foldable tables outside into my garage. I set it up, covering the tables in one big white blanket, like it was one dining table. I took out all the chairs in my house and set it up to accommodate twenty some people. And then I set up the food.

I opened the gate to my garage and waited for people to come.

My first visitors were carolers, they were little children who sing door to door for a little pocket change, but that little pocket change was the world to them this Christmas. Instead of giving them money, I invited them to eat the food I had prepared.

At first they had this puzzled look, they weren’t given free food before, just those pocket change they get door to door if any of those families were generous enough.

They took a seat, and started to share the food with themselves. Soon more carolers came, both children and adult alike; carolers who sing for a little bit of donation to the church, and carolers who sing for a little warmth this Christmas.

My house became livelier. I went back to the kitchen and took out more bread, and whatever was left of the kitchen: Salad, Chicken Nuggets, and Canned goods, anything that could be served.

You could see the happy looks on their faces.

Sooner or later, the neighbors joined in, bringing in food of their own to share. Many people came to the point that the place was crowded, even some of my neighbors brought in their own tables and just set it up on the street. They also brought some alcoholic beverages, and I even got to drink a little.

The phone rang.

It was my family. They were greeting me a Merry Christmas from afar. I didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

The streets were livelier than it ever was.

Even people who lived farther from my home would think we were having a fiesta of our own. The carolers started to sing Christmas songs in unison. Even the drunk people started to sing as well. They didn’t have to sing well, everyone singing together was good enough.

The celebration went out through the night, and this Christmas dinner was the happiest one I’ve ever done.

Merry Christmas to All and may you have a blessed New Year.

Happiness

Have you ever felt lost or didn’t know what to do with your life?

Have you ever thought that everything was dull?

Ever became bored out of the repetition of your life?

Well, I for one felt those.

I felt lost, bored, and alone. I just graduated from college and been unemployed for a few months now without knowing what to do. Only reason I was still surviving was out of my parents’ love.

I stood there at a crossroads, with different paths available. But instead, all I did was stood there, like time stood still. I never had any fun, never had any stress, never had anything. All I did was kill time. I would play games, I would read the news, I would watch shows just to relieve myself of the boredom. But it wasn’t enough.

I went out and fooled around. Meeting people here and there, sleeping here and there, and giving my parents worry. And even with having my parents get worried about me, I kept doing. It wasn’t because I didn’t love them, it was because, I was lost. I didn’t know which way to go.

Some time ago, I picked up the pen. I wrote children’s stories, I wrote what I thought was inspirational poems, I wrote essays, and I made blogs. The praises made me feel, good. Like this was what I thought that I was looking for.

Few days later I started writing stories and tried to look for a publishing company that would well publish my works. I went to my first company and talked with the editor. The editor found my stories to be mediocre. All of the stories I had the editor read was rejected. Everything from children stories to short stories got all burnt down.

Again I was at a standstill.

It didn’t take too long until I was back at the bar, getting drunk and fooling around. I was like a spoiled child; I swore to never hold another pen ever again. I started to think different things just to protect my ego.

I started to talk crap about the editor; I started to think that writing wasn’t my thing and that I wasn’t the creative kind anyway. My life went to a crossroads to a pitfall just because I couldn’t handle the criticisms of a professional.

Few months later, I went to a café to order some coffee. There I found one of my high school colleagues and decided to sit down and have a chat with her. She was all alone; her hair tied like a bun, and wore glasses. She didn’t look like she aged since we last met, nor did she get any taller.

She was typing something down on her laptop, and looked very serious with it. And if it makes any sense, she looked happy.

I asked her what she was doing. She told me that she was writing a children’s story book. I felt happy for her and jealous at the same time.

“So, how’s the writing business coming along?” I asked her.

“It’s doing pretty good; I already had some picture books published as well.” She replied with a smile as she was typing along her small laptop.

“Wow, that’s good. You were always a good writer back in high school.” I told her.

She giggled and I think she liked my compliment. I remember having read the first novel-like story she wrote. It was good and pretty detailed, it had this fantasy theme to it, and I liked the characters in her story.

“So how did that novel you write go?” I asked her.

“What novel?” She had a puzzled look on her face.

“You know, the first one you made, the one you had me read back in high school?” I replied.

“Oh that one, it didn’t go too well.” She said with a straight face, “My novel was turned down by every company I went to. Even my uncle who owned one told me that it wouldn’t sell.”

I was surprised.

No…

I was more shocked than surprised.

Someone that I actually looked up to in terms of writing had her story turned down. And it was actually something I really liked to read.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh don’t worry about it, as you can see, I’m still in the business because it’s something I love doing.” She happily said to me.

This served as an eye-opener to me. Literature was something I loved, and I let a little bit of criticism to give up on it. I felt ashamed. It was a big slap to my face.

Here I was, looking at someone successful, yet she wasn’t successful to begin with. I could only imagine how much more rejections she had to face in order to have a story of hers get published. And I could also imagine the smile on her face on her first publication.

With that in mind, I took the pen again, started writing stories, poems, blogs yet again, this time with a whole new conviction.

I climbed up from the pitfall, got back to the crossroads, and choose to move forward again.

Sure my first few works will be rejected again, but I have to keep in mind, this is how people start. People fall to climb I should never forget that. It’s because when you believe that you love doing something, you don’t stop believing in it or else it will end.

Sure it might not earn me a living, but if I do something I love doing, either way it makes me happy.

I Saw People (extracted from my facebook account)

I saw a man die yesterday.

He was alone under the shade.

I didn't notice until i walked close to where he lay.

I only knew when I asked if he was okay.

I reached out to him

to feel his pulse.

I put my fingers on his wrist,

there was no pulse.

His hand was cold,

his face was dirtied.

And all the while the people around me,

they were busy.

I left his corpse to ask around

who he was, where he lived.

There was nothing, there were no sound.

The dead old man laid there,

no address, no name, no relatives.

It was a horrific sight to bear.

I wonder,

When i die,

will people weep?

Who will cry?

Storge

Living in the Philippines, the existence of extended families is very common. 

Our family is just like that. I live together with my mom, dad, my younger brother, my grandmother, and my very old aunt.

Back when i was a kid, both my mom and dad worked. My dad worked as a ship engineer, and my mother worked as an employee of the government. The people who would look after me at the time would be both my grandmother and my aunt.

The time i have spent with my granny and my aunt is equivalent to how old i was.

However, when my little brother was born, I was 12 at the time. I've noticed that, the usual attention i was getting was slowly fading away and responsibilities as the older brother kept piling up.

Sometimes i would even fight with my parents, my aunt, and my grandmother for very selfish reasons. I was never proud of it, in fact, i felt very sorry about it. But, i was too stubborn to notice how wrong i was.

When i was in my second year of college, i came home very late. No one was home except for my grandmother and my younger brother.

"Granny, where's everybody?"

It turns out that my aunt was hospitalized. That was a shock to me, especially since we just had a fight over how i should treat my younger brother better.

I couldn't do anything but wait at the time, i didn't know which hospital she was brought to.

It was 12 midnight when my parents were able to come home. They said my aunt was suffering from a terrible lung disease so she was hospitalized. After a few minutes of grabbing some food and spare clothes, my parents left again.

The next day i went back to school like normal, this time my aunt was back, but she had an apparatus to help her breathe. I couldn't look at her directly, i gave her her medicine that was prescribed by the doctor. Slowly after she went to sleep, i noticed she was having trouble breathing again. I woke up dad so she could bring her back to the hospital

The day after, she was still in the hospital. Even when i did know which one she was now, i couldn't visit her due to the pile-up of the homework i had at the time. So the day just passed by with me praying for my aunt.

The next day, i got home early, and waited for news from my parents. Someone else came, it was my other aunt, she gave me the news, my aunt passed away. My aunt passed away without me ever saying sorry or that i loved her. 

I never showed how much i appreciated my aunt...

A week went by and the funeral was already being set-up. All the while, i haven't shed a tear. I made the funeral video dedicated to my grandmother, still not a single tear was shed.

It was only when i was made to sprinkle holy water on my aunt's casket, my aunt laid there, cold and lifeless. She was dressed neatly, white clothes that matched her white skin, and her white hair. I started to wonder why my aunt never married.

Suddenly, my tears started to flow, memories with my aunt started flash, and i couldn't help myself. I ran to the break room to hide my tears from the crowd.

I cried... My face was a horrible mess, i couldn't stop crying. Pathetic isn't it? A grown man crying like a newborn baby...

My cousins noticed, they went to the break room and caught me crying.

All of them, walked towards me and started to hug me, and cried together with me.

Even now, i would still cry whenever i remembered my aunt. 

My mother would sometimes talk to me, how i shouldn't feel sad. The times i couldn't visit, my aunt understood. Mom told me, my aunt loved me like a son. She forgave me for being stubborn, she forgave me for being selfish, she forgave me for being me.

It's funny how it's always said but least understood: You never know what you have until you lose it.