on eggs, pregnancy, and night sky

"What makes the desert beautiful," said the Little Prince, "is that somewhere it hides a well..."


December 18 marked the last day of our classes this year. No one was feverish and swarmed with school works because there's not that much to do, except for some encoding and revisions of theses, which practically compensated for the hours wasted on absolute idleness. In short, pang-walis sa nagbuburak na utak.

If Christmas is not a thing for apathetic and semi-anti-social students like us—the notorious bunch of seniors that constantly ignored parties, general assemblies, saintly seminars, and even the upcoming retreat—gift-giving, ironically, does count, at least in some groups, and especially in our last year as kolehiyalas.

"Sirain mo para maraming sumunod," is an automatic line people will surely never forget while anxiously waiting, and sometimes getting even more excited for what the other has received, or dying to see what kind of reaction one would throw upon discovering a slimy toad gum from that silly gift box.

I knew it was an egg; an odd sort of egg—that thing my friend, Joy, gave me last week—and indeed, eggs are supposed to be broken before they can be useful. It was an egg-shaped plush toy with a zip fastener at the midsection, as if inviting you to take a peek at what it cloaks inside. Under the velvety white sheet, much like a scrotum (kidding!) or just plain bonnet, was a happy duckling with 10 hoops of yarn and a perfectly tied orange ribbon on its head, and short flappy wings, unable as that of the tearjerker kiwi animation in youtube. I am not a fan of stuffed toys, but that one was great.

Nevertheless, i prefer to keep the egg closed and figuratively unbroken most of the time for sentimental reasons. Like magic that makes us smile as we look at the swollen tummies of soon-to-be mommies, we slowly fall in love with the idea that there is something beautiful inside it; that there's a little man, sucking his thumb under that pack of lard; and simply because there is life inside it, which gives that ball an extra glow... And for us, lovers of the Little Prince, it is always sweet to look at the sky at night and see the faint white glow with the freshness that comes only with new eyes, knowing that in one of the stars, he is living.

Stars do change, in some measures, as we change in larger ones, and until now, it still gets me to thinking, has the sheep eaten his rose—or not? "And you will see how everything changes... And no grown-up will ever understand that this is a matter of so much importance!"

where are you Christmas?

i heard this thing last night which asked, "if you were given a chance to change the 'ho-ho-ho' trademark of Santa Claus, what would it be?" answers came flying as hoy-hoy-hoy, hey-hey-hey, wahahahaha, hihihihi (as if Santa was some sort of a witch), and a lot more crappy sounds.

if i were to be asked, i would suggest that Santa just shuts his mouth up (what's so funny about Christmas?) and never let the hopeful children notice him coming, which is what he intends to do in the first place, because if not, he would just bang the front door or whack the windows instead of squeezing himself dirty in that darn chimney. and by the way, how about the children in tropical countries, who have nothing but holes in the roof, and worse, no roof at all? won't they have their gifts? i'm thankful that i stopped believing in tales at an early age, lest i would have thought of myself as a naughty kid all these time.

well, i don't want to sound like The Grinch, because i also had my own share of putting big red socks under the stairs, waiting for something lovely beneath that plastic tree, and getting myself all mesmerized by the fairy lights that cover the whole city at night; but now, i just don't feel it coming. this year, i don't want to get myself involved with Christmas parties and reunion-slash-beer-drinking session, or whatever. i don't even want to look at plain yellow fairy lights because all they do is make me feel a little melancholic and alone.

again, i say, if i were to choose, i'd rather die on a Christmas season. scanning my older posts, i found this younger piece of thought:

on living and leaving (part 2)

"...it is mostly during the cold December that people feel loved and special. gifts flushing into your house, greetings clogging in airwaves, and friends, those you've known ever since you said your first hello to the earth, coming into sight, and making you feel important, remembered, cherished - is there anything more you can ask for? you feel great, you feel loved, you feel more than what the great dead people felt. what happens after life, you know no more, but what matters is that you keep those memories with you and preserve them like a jar of fragrant kisses which, while the grownups fooled us, multiply into thousand sweet little memories... i can't think of spending another year with those love messages diminishing like decaying trees and being thrown into a state where they were totally lost and out of my grasp..."

i just don't think something has changed in the way i see it.

and since it's the time of the year, and 2008 is slowly making it's way out (thank God, just a minute shadow of 28 for me to endure) i might as well share with you some of my favorite Christmas songs and an audio book of A Christmas Carol by Orson Wells.

happy Christmas...