This is suppose to be a christmas entry but I didn't have time and dollar boy was a more pressing issue so I had to write about him first. Another thing, I am not entirely sure if this entry is non-fiction or logical for that matter
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I love christmas and I am not a christmas grinch. Atleast, that is what I tell myself everytime christmas season comes around. Actually, I really do love christmas. I like the idea of everyone recieving and giving gifts. I love the idea of a Santa Clause. I love it that everyone deserves a gift because it is Jesus' birthday. I love christmas shopping. I love noche buena. I definitely love christmas trees and christmas lights. On the other hand, it seems that christmas doesn't like me. Bad christmas memories outwieghs the happy ones. In fact, I can only remember two happy ones. When i was about five years old and Santa gave me my secret christmas wish which is a parrot stuff toy. I swear, I didn't tell anyone that I like it and from then on I believed in Santa Clause, it odesn't matter if he doesn't come down from a chimmey or wears a red suit. Another happy christmas was the christmas of 2003, barely a month after my operation, I am just happy and thankful that I am celebrating christmas. I've already had 21 christmasses and just having two good ones isn't well, good. Anyway, this is how my last holidays went.
Going through the holidays grocery and gift shoppings had been exhilarating. Preparing the noche buena while watching Star Wars marathon well, lets just say I like cheese and my mom's spaghetti is the best ever. Choosing my christmas outfit was, well a blast; from my diva-like red blouse, to my stunning white pants, to my happy green shoes, to the red ribbon I put on my ponytail, I embodied christmas. So far so good right?
Then came christmas day.
Somehow, there are a lot of things to do and I am the only one who can do it. Everyone else is having a holiday except me. A green salad for other people I don't know and probably don't like. A macaroni salad which somehow isn't as good as my mom's. More gifts to wrap. Dirty dishes to wash. The table's a mess. The floor's a mess. I have no time to take a bath, I feel bad and I probably smell bad too. A godchild is knocking on the door, I don't want her to think my christmas best is an old school t-shirt, shorts and a messy hair. Next thing I know, I laying on my parents' bed; face down, tears making their way out my eyes, desperately thinking of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. I just want to be in a happier place at that time. Then my dad asked me if I'm crying because I've heard of the news. News? What news? Am I suppose to hear a news that is suppose to make me cry? Wow. Last year's christmas when I was crying on christmas day because of a guy seemed really good right now.
The news is actually christmass-y, a teenage girl pregnant. Somehow, I didn't hear the angels sing hallelujah.
Fast forward to new year's day. Guess where I found myself just hours after fireworks ushered the new year in. It was almost surreal, but there I was, at the skyway, sitting on its pavement, throwing up. I was not drunk, my father is and he was the one driving. What happened was, the car hit something jusr before we enter the skyway and my head hit the car. I know I was hurt and I also know I no longer want to ride in the car. So, when I got my now angry drunk-driving dad to stop, I got out and threw-up. I threw-up because of hyper-acidity in my stomach, which I think was caused by fear, panic and something in the carbonara I had. My hands were shaking so hard, I've never thought hands can shake that much. I can barely see them moving but they are shaking like a ringing cellphone in silent mode. There was nothing left for me to throw-up, so my dad is begging me to get back to the car which I wouldn't do, so he threathened to jump off the sky way. By that time, I started questioning the reality of everything. Anyway, skyway patrol finally got to us and that was when I noticed my sister resting her head on the railings of skyway. I leaned my head too, after all not everyone can claim they rested their head on the railings of skyway.
Riding at the back of the service van of the skyway patrol, we passed by a billboard of a rock royalty. It made me remember that I used to have normal life. I missed that. At that time, my life seemed to be a telenovela that I wouldn't even watch, worst of all, I don't have control over the creative content.
