Post-yuletide Contemplations

I can’t believe the day would come when I’d be channeling a Katy Perry reference this time of year: I’m wide awake. I can hear the myriad of snores in graceful symphony echoing around the room – my dad’s, rolling like the fierce ocean; my nephews’, emanating a beautiful hissing exchange (I have three towering tykes for nephews, you see).

I am into my 7th day of blissful vacation where my hat is to rest, eat heartily and engage in meaningful conversation with loved ones. Only a few hours ago I was reminiscing Signora Santibañez-esque childhood moments with my aunt and cousin. Boy was I mean. And to this, I am compelled to borrow some lyrics from Incubus’s Isadore which goes: it’s not who you were, it’s who you are.

In this span of time, I’ve read two books, opened a Pinterest & Tumblr account out of sheer curiosity and got addicted to this little thing online they call Foursquare. I remain unsure up until this writing whether I should be proud or embarrassed that I’ve become the person who checks in our local wet market, all for the pursuit of getting points on this app and being number one. Hey, at my peak, I even took a screenshot of the stats. Ahhh, such pursuits of gathering memorabilia.

And now, I’ve woken up right smack at 3 in the morning, wondering whether I should play Death Dome for practice (as it has now become my filial obligation to guide my nephews on playing the game – assuming I know better, of course), or do some Yoga to help me get back to sleep, or daydream about how I could just be telling all this to a significant other rather than blogging about it (again, the former assumes that I have met a crucial precondition which, at this point in time, I have not). It’ll come. In time. That’s what they all say.

Ahhh, but I have been devoting to much energy to doubt. Instead, I shall allow myself to send personalized messages to the people that have made my year as it is, after all, nearing its end. Or I shall just resort to documenting further lengthy discourse in my head on end – in my journal.

A happy theoretical Christmas, I bid. (Christ’s actual birthday was believed to be mid-April, but of course you already know that). May the spirit of genuine love and generosity envelope us all. Or you can feel all Grinch-esque. Different strokes for different folks. I won’t judge. Cheers!


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