26 December 2012
There is no point in wresting with myself when it comes to
writing. I will give in eventually.
I’ve been trying to sum up what Christmas is for me now. I
again remember what Christmas is called in some other place – Thanksgiving - the
appropriate name for me for the season. As I look back at the past year, I have
lots to be grateful for.
I am with people I would want to be with if the prediction
of world destruction by December 21, 2012 were true, with the exception of my
dad whom I miss. The one point about love that I have learned as an adult aside
from having your thoughts fully tuned in to what the object of love is about
was to also speak about that person every time and unconsciously find yourself
being changed. Love is not a bug as the Jonas Brothers sang about. It is a
virus which if they meant by bug as a computer bug would be more like a virus
as well. I don’t know much about the difference between bugs and viruses when
it comes to computers even if Dan Brown already told me so in Digital Fortress.
We have to meet again sometime for confirmation but to me, love is a virus
because it takes over your system and makes you different.
What I like to reiterate is that love changes you, from your
thoughts, emotions, how you react to how you live. With my dad away for
Christmas, I have proof, as I have observed myself, that I love him. Not just
with the respectful love we reserve for parents or the adoring almost
idolatrous love we give to them when we were younger and we thought our parents
could do anything and that they were never wrong. I know I love my dad because
I keep thinking of him. He never was the vocal type; he demonstrates his love.
Because he is not with us, I keep on remembering him for himself, not for what
I want him to be. Children do have an expectation for their parents. I usually
lived in that dome of shade, believing that my dad was what I thought him to be
and loving him for that idealized form. But I am older. I know clearly of his
human attributes, what I both like, dislike, hate or am annoyed with about him.
And he’s being away makes me think of all of those and wanting him to be here
so I wouldn’t have to think of them as memories but to actually experience them
as realities. I am longing to again neglect his presence simply because he is
before me and the idea of his not being with us would only be a probability,
not actuality. I would want that peace of not even getting to think that we
would be apart as a family because in the now we are as one.
For that I am still grateful. I will try to live my life
with a thank you, whatever comes, thank you still – I have a complete living,
breathing and loving family. I would’ve wanted my Christmas 2012 to be magical,
like how it was to me when I was a child. If only I could live it as I thought
my ideal day should be. My concept of an ideal day would be to have it as a
single day, not comparable to any other. I want to live each day as if I had no
past or no future ahead of me. Even if only Christmas, living it as a separate
day, as if it is the only day I would have to be alive. That sense is what
there is when I am with Shiela. She makes me realize that I may not have any
more morrows to have with her even if the idea of not having her alive while I
still am pains me. She also instills in me the truth that now is precious to
waste for thinking about the times we have missed on each other. Her condition
of fragility and susceptibility, being fully under the mercy of others while
being able to stand on as herself is a salve for the numbing discipline of
life.
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