Christmas Charade.

It is a wonderful morning in the seat of a low tide. Whilst the sun kisses her chubby cheeks, she whiffs the smell of sea breeze. The cool wind dances with her wavy locks. Her pearl white slippers frolic with the sand and rocks as her feet direct her to the comely shells. She reaches the top of the dike and stands on the edge. Like wings ready to fly, she frees her hand and throws it in the air, surrendering to the restful clouds. It’s Christmas Day; she couldn’t help but feel blessed in bliss.

Pictures have captured these memories. These are nothing but extracts of my early Christmas morning last year. I spent the holidays in Dulangan, San Luis, Batangas— my daddy’s hometown. My lola came home from Chicago. My gift (well, everyone in the family’s gift) won’t be any sweeter than to hang around for her to make her stay worth while.

As October was about to end, my lolo passed away. His passing brought us (bloodline in the father side) together for Undas. You see, my lolo’s cremated remains were still abroad. When my lola arrived later this November, she has the urn with her. The urn was buried in the grotto in their house. Yet again, another meaningful gathering. Since her stay is only good until the 20th of January, it was instinctive for my family to celebrate Christmas in the hearty cradle of Batangas.

How kind. Plans were crystal clear and five days before Christmas, I’ve got CHICKEN POX.

The miserably ludicrous manifestation of the Varicella virus successfully trashed my Christmas vacation plans. My 20-day holiday break (see, I kicked off my school escape a day earlier. I missed the last day dated 2007 in the school calendar [read: Christmas Party]. **,) is also very suitable to shed off extra pounds. I dead pigged out this year, and well, I thought I just got the interlude to unscramble my weight struggle. But since I will surely feel extra-icky and itchy after an hour of workout, I postponed my shed-off slim-down plans. Oh well, talking about spoilers! But see, I am not in any chance devastated considering my laughably pathetic state.

I am not sure if I am allowed, or just if it’s right that I feel this way, but I feel very funny. Look, this is a very unusual Christmas for me. And yes, I guess for my mommy and my siblings too. My mom and my sister are in Batangas since the 23rd. My dad is in Saudi Arabia— for myriads of light-years. And I am stucked in our Christmas spirit-free home with my brother, who is by the way, no where in my path because he is doubted to be protected from me, from Chicken Pox.

I just feel so….FUNNY. This December 25 is so different from the last 14 December 25s of my life. My contagious state spelled out alterations. No presents. No aguinaldos. No greetings (I assume greetings from friends will be through text messaging but my phone is not accessible for six days now.) No hams. Not even any staple celebration food. No Christmas mass tomorrow. No Mommy. No Icka.

I guess I am not allowed to search out for sympathy. Remembering the families of Jonas Burgos and Geraldine Palma, I should never ever feel deprived of normalcy of the holidays— and I never felt so. I am not down nor depressed.

For the third time, I feel super funny. Nakakatawa, nakatutuwa. Inabutan na ako ng Pasko sa computer.

Merry Christmas.

an inconvenient truth

The heavenly promo of a telecomm company practically functioned as the lifeblood of a republic where the rate of hitting the keypad is faster than the rate of metabolism. It has been a six-day plague for individuals of my extreme opposite. I have not really fostered a perpetual connection with my mobile phone.

While hundreds of folks carry the termination of unlimited text messaging as a national jeopardy perilous than global warming, the skin lying over my scapula felt from itchy to flaming scratchy. I grabbed my phone and took a snap of what my undulating eyes cannot catch a glimpse of. Is this a zit? The screen displayed a picture of an inflamed blemish skin. My nose is bursting with blackheads and my face gets extra glistening oily sometimes but I hardly ever obtain zits. I feel qualms for my unblemished back, well, which is now spoiled thanks to an inconsiderate zit. . .it couldn’t be more than a zit!

The tagteam of a scorching headache and an involuntary lethargy constrained me to bed. I guess this collaboration commissioned my alarm clock as an accomplice. And they were hell good. It was now impossible for me to complete the Misa de Gallo. I heard no alarm and when I came to my senses, I guess the fifth of nine Eucharistic celebrations is now on the second liturgy. However, a wish assured to come into being by fulfilling the nine holy chilly mornings (or nights) was certainly not my motivation in attending the Simbang Gabi. I could still attend the remaining four masses, I said to myself.

Five days before Christmas, I had to leave my hackneyed habitat to meet my classmates and make a colossus-worth project in Electronics. I was feeling very ill but I have to make up to them and well, do my part in the project. My head was dead throbbing as if a lightning scar is engraved in my forehead and You-Know-Who might just have resurrected, or well, there was still an eighth Horcrux. I compelled myself to take a bath and prepare myself. As I was bathing, my attention on the burning sensation in my head detoured to a swollen spot in my left arm…and then there were spots. I found another two in my abdomen. I can tell they were blisters— swollen, painful, fluid serum. But I won’t tell myself. I don’t want to get bothered but actually, panic levels were starting to rise as I was feeling equally scratchy and lumpy in my scalp and in my forehead.

The project-making kuno was a day filled with hilarious tête-à-tête and sidesplitting laughter. This group did not fail that day to radiate good hearty laughs which made me survive my uneasy state. Lest I guess, I will perish owing to the throbbing phenomenon in my head and the heavy discomfort of itch. It was almost eight in the evening when I got home. The nasty truth confronted me as my eyes feasted on my miserable back and abdomen. I’ve got chicken pox.

renaissance.

I have not written for gazillion years. Sayang. Kung may writer mettle lang sana ako at playwright disposition, I could have written about the 23^rd of August, mixed signals, entrance exams, burning bridges, indifferent state and my hypolactasiac fingernails.

2007 is such a colossus year! How could I not publish everything from the mundane episodes to the learning experiences!

At this point, I have started to hit the keyboards but I still feel ugly. Actually, I feel nothing more than expelling my uncertainty. And as my uncertainty is revealed, my insecurities exude. Running behind are my frustrations which bring us back to the alpha- I have not written for gazillion years.

And there were nine sentences. Sweet.