My words will either attract a strong mind or offend a weak one.
A Magical Christmas Experience In Bruges – YouTube
Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful. Click on the link to explore with me the magic of Christmas in Bruges.
Walking Around Aachen Christmas Market Yesterday – YouTube
Christmas Walk Tournai Wonderful Architecture Fantastic Ambiance – YouTube
The spirit of Christmas is about giving – not only gifts (which are symbolic) but a helping hand to all who need it – this is what Christmas is all about.
It’s the jingle in the bells, the carols in the air,
The nipping spirits counting down the days.
The threat of Christmas hung in the air, visible already in the fretful look of passersby as they readied themselves for the meaningless but necessary rites of false jovialities and ill-considered gifts. – Peter Dickinson
For three years in a row now, I failed to decorate for the holiday season. What’s the use? No one will come to visit, we are not going anywhere, I don’t feel the spirit of Christmas, so why bother?
I don’t even believe in God anymore. So, why should I celebrate his supposed birthday? Too much ‘ado about nothing. If I have one single reason why should I decorate, I would probably do some effort. But I have none. Not anymore.
It used to be different. Before, I will put up Christmas decorations on the first of December and let them hang till after the 6th of January. In my country of birth, we celebrate the longest Christmas celebration in the world, starting in September and will last until January or even February. In my current situation and location that would be outright ridiculous not to mention tiring.
A lot of things happened since then. Too much to even mention. Let’s just say I am not in a festive mood these days.
“December’s wintery breath is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring summer’s memory…”
―
MORTAL:
“The night is cold, the hour is late, the world is bleak and drear;
Who is it knocking at my door?”
THE NEW YEAR:
“I am Good Cheer.”
MORTAL:
“Your voice is strange; I know you not; in shadows dark, I grope.
What seek you here?”
THE NEW YEAR:
“Friend, let me in; my name is Hope.”
MORTAL:
“And mine is Failure; you but mock the life you seek to bless. Pass on.”
THE NEW YEAR:
“Nay, open wide the door; I am Success.”
MORTAL:
“But I am ill and spent with pain; too late has come your wealth. I cannot use it.”
THE NEW YEAR:
“Listen, friend; I am Good Health.”
MORTAL:
“Now, wide I fling my door. Come in, and your fair statements prove.”
THE NEW YEAR:
“But you must open, too, your heart, for I am Love.”
-Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Dear Santa,
Thank you for making last Christmas perfect – but when I asked for a storybook ending, I didn’t quite realize that the magic ends at midnight.
I’m older and colder now, and I’m not quite sure whether or not to believe in you anymore. I believed in happily ever afters and goodbyes that lasted until the next call, but look where we are now. Honestly, all I want for Christmas, is to be okay (am I asking for too much again, like I did when I wished for my parents to kiss like they meant it once more?) I was taught that although miracles happen, it is always wiser to ask for things within reach. I’ll learn to self-soothe, given enough time, I suppose. But this season, I want three simple things :
A blanket fort, to protect me from the monsters in my head
A playlist without memories, so I don’t have to drown my tears in the shower
And my last summer loves to outlast this summer.
You see, I’m still laying the table for two, my answer machine still says we although now there’s only me, and I’ve forgotten what kisses used to taste like before orange and cinnamon became the only flavors I recognize.
I’m not sure how long I can dance alone on Queen while the candle burns lower and lower still. The clock is ticking away and the forty-sixth letter came back unopened, stamped “return to sender” again.
It’s almost midnight, and I want three simple things (but more than anything else, really, I just want to be okay.)
Maybe it’s time to write the forty-seventh letter now.
– Tanvi Deshmukh
Up and down the streets she ran
With a black satin sack in hand.
Filled with sharp knives
She planned to end lives.
From house to house she crept so quietly
Looking almost, no, indeed shadowy.
But she was not alone with her sack
There was something riding on her back.
Green eyes gleamed riding through the night
Glaring around so full of spite.
“Who are you?”
A man’s voice asked
“You don’t know? I am not masked.”
“Get out of here! What do you think you’re doing??”
“Out of here? I think not. You are the one I’ve been pursuing!”
“Pursuing? You’re nuts! Get the fuck outta here!”
“Right now I can feel your fear!”
“Ha! That’s rich. I’m not scared”
“Like I even really cared”
“That’s it, I’m calling the police. They’ll have you pinned.”
The shadowy girl just grinned.
The man went for the phone
In one second he hit the floor with a moan.
Those green eyes glared down
“Ha! What a clown”
What a sweet voice.
The man looked up at those eyes
“Time to say your goodbyes”
With one swift move of a vase that man was gone.
“This isn’t so hard now is it?”
The shadow shook his head
The blood flowed red
“We have a long night ahead.”
He kicked the pieces of vase
“Yes, I know, Sweet face.”
With that the shadows did flee
That man didn’t even get a chance to plea.
Hours passed
This town sure was vast.
They went tapping down the road
Carrying the sharp load.
“Let’s go home now, honey.”
She huffed.
“Quickly now, before it gets sunny!”
Up the stone pathway she ran
At the door they gave the town a brief scan
“I’m dreaming of a red Christmas.”
She turned the handle of the door
“This time of year is always such a chore!”
He sighed as he hopped from her back
She tossed down her big black sack.
He swept the dirt from his clothes
“The living should thank us”
She brushed her hair
“Those we killed were too much to bear”
She hopped up on the windowsill
“They made me positively ill”
She stared out into space
“And…back to my loving place”
She turned to her evil little doll
He leaned on the wall.
“Wanna open presents now?”
He smiled
“My goodness, child”
He laughed quietly under his breath
“What a quick transition from the subject of death!”
~Disclaimer: Though I found this piece among my old documents I doubt if it is mine. I am not this wicked 😉
When I was fresh from the boat and still feeling my way around here one of the things I learned was whenever you received a gift the giver expects you to open the package real time. I find it quite scary. In my country, we are not obliged to do the same, we can keep the present and open it privately in our own time which I personally prefer; in this manner, we could avoid an embarrassing situation in case the gift is not to our taste and spare the feelings of disappointment from both sides.
Opening a present from a live person was scary enough. There was always the chance that the gift might be so wrong, so completely not the kind of thing you liked, that you’d realize they didn’t really know you at all.”
―
Over the years, I learned to fake enthusiasm and gratitude whenever I received a wrong gift, each time praying the giver will not see through the facade and hoping they are genuinely surprised and grateful when it is the other way around.
They say it is the thought that counts but like I said in one of my previous posts, believe you me, the theory about its- the -thoughts –that- counts- can only stretch so far.
What about you?
Which do you prefer?
Open what you get real-time or have a private moment to yourself to unfold spread and enjoy your present?
MY OWN PRIVATE IDAHO 
You must be logged in to post a comment.