ZEN Bitchin'

I do not wish to write about the holidays again and yet here I am doing so. The past holiday season did not leave me with feelings of joy that I usually felt before. In fact, if anything, I felt absolutely mirthless over-all. Sure, I had bursts of exhilaration and cheer (which can be mistaken for real happiness) but these were ‘facilitated’ by external agents like drugs and alcohol. In fact, I was so glad, no–thankful that the holidays are over. That’s one less reason for my innards to continually knot themselves into tight balls inside my belly.

Still, there are other things that I’m also thankful for during the past holiday season: the gifts. Yes, you read it right. In spite of the general malaise that my prose has exhibited of late, when it comes to gifts (giving & receiving–but more on the receiving), I am still a big soft, fluffy monkey. Of all the gifts I received, these are the ones I like most.

What’s not to like about this gift? It’s orange, it has a cute chicken in front, and it’s a giant egg-shell! It’s adorable, and with no real purpose in life other than being beautiful (and yes, adorable). Scrump was given by another friend, who knows I sorta collect Lilo’s (Lilo from Lilo and Stitch, not LiLo the Lindsay Lohan) doll. I just put in there because of the great contrast in color.

I love books. Books as presents I love more. This book was given to me by the author himself. This self-published memoir chronicles his struggle at reconciling his sexuality with his faith. Some people might find the thickness of the book daunting, but I read it in one sitting, one cool evening. Ray writes such fluid prose, making the reading process easier. But this is not to say that it’s an unremarkable book. Some of the contents are bordering on the ’scandalous’–depending on the degree of one’s modesty (read: prudishness). As for me, there were some moments that made me blush. But all in all it is a compelling read. I promised Ray a review of his book in this blog. I will do a ‘proper review’ in the coming days.

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I didn’t expect that I’d be able to write this post, because I felt that the past holiday season went by in a blur, almost a drug-induced haze that it didn’t seem worth writing about. And yet here I am, doing exactly the opposite of what my glum heart has told me to: ignore the holidays, let it pass like water flowing around river stones. I don’t remember much, actually. My memories these days are more confined to what I was feeling rather than on what was happening.

I went through the motions of fixing the Christmas tree, which turned out better than I expected (though I wouldn’t admit it). I went through my friends’ plans of hosting a Christmas eve party at home, instead of a Christmas day lunch that I usually did in the past. This experience taught me that a potluck party is way better than people contributing money then having the cooking done by just a few people only.

Why? Because when the expenses exceeded the pooled money, nobody volunteered to make a second contribution to the one who handled the cooking. Moi. I however, hope that everyone had a good time. Based on the level of intoxication of people, it’s safe to say that they did have a good time. I was, in fact, so drunk that night that I only managed to help V, my room-mate, a little in tidying up after the party before sleep claimed me.

The rooftop of our flat was decorated for the party. In the end there were too much food (which we ate for the next 2 days, it seemed) but not too much whiskey, vodka & beer. There were new friends (at least to me), resurrected friends, and friends of friends who attended the party.

The Beautiful Ones

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I found this in my 16 year-old cousin’s blog over at tumblr. I’m not sure if she wrote this (it looked as if she got it from another blogger–a friend, presumably) or not. I’ve been reading her posts for quite some time now and I am quite taken by her eloquence. Am I glad to have stumbled upon her blog. I haven’t seen her in a long time. the last I did she was this chubby, cheerful, and affectionate girl who had hugs and kisses for everyone. In her sweet sixteen party, she had apparently blossomed into a pretty young woman, whose beauty seems to equal (if not surpass) that of her older (and only) sister’s. Thanks, K, for allowing me a view of your mind. Such beauty makes me feel the world isn’t such a dreary place, after all.

I have no doubts the girl can write. But this particular note got me thinking. Because this was something I would’ve attempted to write when I were young myself. Of course most of the details would be different: mostly because of the sex/gender divide; also because we’re almost a generation apart; and we grew in different parts of the world. But I guess the general sentiment will be the same.

When you are young you can’t wait to grow up and when you’ve grown old you can’t stop thinking about when you were young. One of life’s hard facts. And one vicious cycle.