ziyimaniac
December 27th, 2003, 02:20 AM
(NB This post seems like it came from my e-mail inbox. Actually, I wrote it. If you feel like sharing this to others, I'm giving my permission. You have my word for as long as you retain everything from the title and my name down to the very end :D---zM)
The Saddest Christmas
by ziyiManiac
This is the saddest Christmas I have ever seen in my life.
***
It is that time of year when people forget about the cares of the world and, for once, put their pasts behind to give cheer to the day. The cold wind blows like a cheerful song in the night, as we found ourselves on the way to a friend. Actually, my sister's friend. You know that it's that special time of the year when you see people walking on the streets with a smile on their lips and a glee in their hearts, even the occasional drunken cliques that we'd pass by the road.
Not long after, we were in the friend's house. My sister's friend. We're going to celebrate in someone else' home---someone who is a stranger to me, yet someone who I can treat as family just for this night. And sure enough, just as we were in sight of the friend's house, we saw some people in the house, taking some late snacks (we came at around nine-thirty in the evening) and sharing the latest gossip. We were in just the right place for such a right occasion. But my sister's friend was nowhere in sight; instead, it was his mother who met us by the door. She was, as it seemed to me, a broken woman who is struggling to make herself in tune with the times.
"Merry Christmas, Tita (Aunt)," my sister greeted her friend's mom. My mom did the same.
"Merry Christmas, too," the mother spoke, with a slight hesitation. Then she added, "I hope so."
"Oh, no," my mom said, "it's Christmas time. Make yourself at ease. Here, take these muffins."
I looked around and did not find my sister's friend in sight. There was no way I could find him greeting us a happy holiday.... Meanwhile, there was a group saying the rosary and singing some songs after each mystery. I quietly took a chair and say, joining the solemn group in their singing. One of the, keyboard player, recognized me and gave me a quick wave; I returned the greeting. After the rosary, he motioned me to the keyboard.
"Hey," he said, "how about a good song?"
"Sure," I said, "why not? Any requests?"
"Um...anything you like."
I started playing. Since it was Christmas, I played something appropriate:
Pasko na, sinta ko,
hanap-hanap kita;
bakit nagtatampo't
nilisan ako?
Kung mawawala ka
sa piling ko, sinta,
paano ang paskong
inulila mo?
("It's Christmas, my love; I've been waiting for you. Why have you gone away and left me? If you will be gone by my side, my love, what will be of the Christmas that you have forsaken me?")
"Nah," I said, "that's too sad. We should be a little cheerful tonight."
'Yeah," my keyboardist-friend said. "Something optimistic, at least."
So I sat there, thinking of a good song. And so was my sister Angel, who was sitting on one corner wishing that her friend---supposedly her host---was somewhere near her, like the other visitors entertaining themselves with stories and jokes (and the refreshment, of course). But the friend was nowhere to be found.
In truth, he was there. But you see, he can't be there to entertain my sister Angel or my keyboardist-friend Randie. You see, their best friend was there, encased in a wooden coffin, his lifeless body lying in state. He died just a few days before Christmas. SOme said, unfairly, that it was a suicide, but the truth was that he slept in his room, never to wake again. And so, we were there to keep vigil near his mortal remains---and of all occasions, on Christmas Day. The mother requested all her son's friends to come over and share Christmas with their family, if only to give them some consolation. And so we were there.
There are times when you want to ask yourself why. My sister did. She lost one of her best friends before Valentine's Day struck (they even communicated through SMS just hours before he died). And now, another one goes away. So she just can't help but ask herself why she had to lose two of the persons she loved most in one year. It was as if a curse descended upon her clique of four---now reduced to only two, Angel and Randie. It was so incomprehensible...and more so when you notice that Angel seems to lose a friend to death when a holiday is fast approaching. Something isn't quite right.
But who are we to judge when or how should a man's life end or not? It is at these moments that you would seem to lose all faith---and then, in some transcendental episode where God may or may not figure (depending on whether you believe God exists), everything makes sense, and you look beyond things and everything becomes clearer than a star-lit evening. Life, then, ceases to become some Supreme Being's plaything, but a certainty with an uncertain future that is put in our hands which we must treasure. That has become cliched, I know, but given that we were in such a place at such time, everything made sense. Life is precious not because some divine being said so, but because every waking moment is a gem waiting to be treasured. And as we miss those little gems, inured as we are to routine, so we begin to merely exist, living as empty beings. Marcel Proust once wrote something to this effect: only when we are faced with the inevitability of death do we realize that it's the little things---a simple smile, the surprise dinners cooked on your birthday, the hellos and goodbyes unnoticed---that make life. So does Christmas, however commercialized it has become. Sadly, my sister's friend couldn't. He never even knew that he would be sleeping for eternity. (But then again, would we?)
***
I first wrote this in my room on a Saturday morning---actually, it was past midnight, and my mom and angel were still over the friend's house, sharing the eve of the funeral with the deceased's family. (In Filipino, there is an apt term for this social event: huling gabi, which literally means the deceased person's "last night" in his or her own home. My mom's sister once said that in the States (and presumably in other countries), people do not have these social events. The dead are viewed on a predetermined time, then sent on a funeral service and buried. Which raises a question: in America, is a human life just another statistic for Congress, for the Bureau of Census and for the mortician? Is life a mere commodity?)
Regardless of which, as I type these words, the funeral services are on the way. I was planning to go even if I do not personally know my sister's friend or her family. (I didn't make it, because I'm babysitting my six-year old niece.) For a grieving family, there is no better Christmas gift than the consolations of family, friends---and perhaps, a relative stranger like me. After all, Christmas is a celebration of life. ANd death is a certain reminder that life is a blessing that we should cherish and treasure. And nobody, not one person in our lices, is undeserving of our live: our family, our friends, the people we meet on the way, even those that we haven't met or soon will.
Which prompted another question: my sister's friend...was there someone special in his life whom he wanted to thank, but never got to because of his unexpected death? Certainly, it's something I wouldn't want to happen. And so, I hope, for the rest of us who are still breathing.
***
It is the saddest Christmas I have ever known in my life. And so I hope, the last of its kind.
meycauayan, bulacan, philippines
27 december 2003
1:03 am
The Saddest Christmas
by ziyiManiac
This is the saddest Christmas I have ever seen in my life.
***
It is that time of year when people forget about the cares of the world and, for once, put their pasts behind to give cheer to the day. The cold wind blows like a cheerful song in the night, as we found ourselves on the way to a friend. Actually, my sister's friend. You know that it's that special time of the year when you see people walking on the streets with a smile on their lips and a glee in their hearts, even the occasional drunken cliques that we'd pass by the road.
Not long after, we were in the friend's house. My sister's friend. We're going to celebrate in someone else' home---someone who is a stranger to me, yet someone who I can treat as family just for this night. And sure enough, just as we were in sight of the friend's house, we saw some people in the house, taking some late snacks (we came at around nine-thirty in the evening) and sharing the latest gossip. We were in just the right place for such a right occasion. But my sister's friend was nowhere in sight; instead, it was his mother who met us by the door. She was, as it seemed to me, a broken woman who is struggling to make herself in tune with the times.
"Merry Christmas, Tita (Aunt)," my sister greeted her friend's mom. My mom did the same.
"Merry Christmas, too," the mother spoke, with a slight hesitation. Then she added, "I hope so."
"Oh, no," my mom said, "it's Christmas time. Make yourself at ease. Here, take these muffins."
I looked around and did not find my sister's friend in sight. There was no way I could find him greeting us a happy holiday.... Meanwhile, there was a group saying the rosary and singing some songs after each mystery. I quietly took a chair and say, joining the solemn group in their singing. One of the, keyboard player, recognized me and gave me a quick wave; I returned the greeting. After the rosary, he motioned me to the keyboard.
"Hey," he said, "how about a good song?"
"Sure," I said, "why not? Any requests?"
"Um...anything you like."
I started playing. Since it was Christmas, I played something appropriate:
Pasko na, sinta ko,
hanap-hanap kita;
bakit nagtatampo't
nilisan ako?
Kung mawawala ka
sa piling ko, sinta,
paano ang paskong
inulila mo?
("It's Christmas, my love; I've been waiting for you. Why have you gone away and left me? If you will be gone by my side, my love, what will be of the Christmas that you have forsaken me?")
"Nah," I said, "that's too sad. We should be a little cheerful tonight."
'Yeah," my keyboardist-friend said. "Something optimistic, at least."
So I sat there, thinking of a good song. And so was my sister Angel, who was sitting on one corner wishing that her friend---supposedly her host---was somewhere near her, like the other visitors entertaining themselves with stories and jokes (and the refreshment, of course). But the friend was nowhere to be found.
In truth, he was there. But you see, he can't be there to entertain my sister Angel or my keyboardist-friend Randie. You see, their best friend was there, encased in a wooden coffin, his lifeless body lying in state. He died just a few days before Christmas. SOme said, unfairly, that it was a suicide, but the truth was that he slept in his room, never to wake again. And so, we were there to keep vigil near his mortal remains---and of all occasions, on Christmas Day. The mother requested all her son's friends to come over and share Christmas with their family, if only to give them some consolation. And so we were there.
There are times when you want to ask yourself why. My sister did. She lost one of her best friends before Valentine's Day struck (they even communicated through SMS just hours before he died). And now, another one goes away. So she just can't help but ask herself why she had to lose two of the persons she loved most in one year. It was as if a curse descended upon her clique of four---now reduced to only two, Angel and Randie. It was so incomprehensible...and more so when you notice that Angel seems to lose a friend to death when a holiday is fast approaching. Something isn't quite right.
But who are we to judge when or how should a man's life end or not? It is at these moments that you would seem to lose all faith---and then, in some transcendental episode where God may or may not figure (depending on whether you believe God exists), everything makes sense, and you look beyond things and everything becomes clearer than a star-lit evening. Life, then, ceases to become some Supreme Being's plaything, but a certainty with an uncertain future that is put in our hands which we must treasure. That has become cliched, I know, but given that we were in such a place at such time, everything made sense. Life is precious not because some divine being said so, but because every waking moment is a gem waiting to be treasured. And as we miss those little gems, inured as we are to routine, so we begin to merely exist, living as empty beings. Marcel Proust once wrote something to this effect: only when we are faced with the inevitability of death do we realize that it's the little things---a simple smile, the surprise dinners cooked on your birthday, the hellos and goodbyes unnoticed---that make life. So does Christmas, however commercialized it has become. Sadly, my sister's friend couldn't. He never even knew that he would be sleeping for eternity. (But then again, would we?)
***
I first wrote this in my room on a Saturday morning---actually, it was past midnight, and my mom and angel were still over the friend's house, sharing the eve of the funeral with the deceased's family. (In Filipino, there is an apt term for this social event: huling gabi, which literally means the deceased person's "last night" in his or her own home. My mom's sister once said that in the States (and presumably in other countries), people do not have these social events. The dead are viewed on a predetermined time, then sent on a funeral service and buried. Which raises a question: in America, is a human life just another statistic for Congress, for the Bureau of Census and for the mortician? Is life a mere commodity?)
Regardless of which, as I type these words, the funeral services are on the way. I was planning to go even if I do not personally know my sister's friend or her family. (I didn't make it, because I'm babysitting my six-year old niece.) For a grieving family, there is no better Christmas gift than the consolations of family, friends---and perhaps, a relative stranger like me. After all, Christmas is a celebration of life. ANd death is a certain reminder that life is a blessing that we should cherish and treasure. And nobody, not one person in our lices, is undeserving of our live: our family, our friends, the people we meet on the way, even those that we haven't met or soon will.
Which prompted another question: my sister's friend...was there someone special in his life whom he wanted to thank, but never got to because of his unexpected death? Certainly, it's something I wouldn't want to happen. And so, I hope, for the rest of us who are still breathing.
***
It is the saddest Christmas I have ever known in my life. And so I hope, the last of its kind.
meycauayan, bulacan, philippines
27 december 2003
1:03 am