Picture yourself minutes after placing the big star on the top of the Christmas tree. Your eyes behold the glory of that perfect, dark green tree that compliments the brightness of the glittery snowballs that surround it. The air is still the same air you are comfortable of breathing in except of the scent the coming holidays bring. But the lights around your house is nothing compared to how your eyes lit when your mom carried the big gift wrapped in a fancy wrapper with a tag where your name was written under the title "for Christmas". Your name is just surprisingly clearer than it should have been. Excitement looms in the deepest corner of your heart. Everything within you just can't wait to see what's inside the fancy wrapper. You don't know what is in there but you are certain that it will make you happy. Perfect, you say.
Perfect indeed. But there is this teeny-weeny detail that you failed to see--or just ignored to see. It is printed in red. Bold letters. It says: "for Christmas". But you just can't notice it when all you have to see is the big present that is just placed by your mom under the Christmas tree. And you can't take your eyes off it. You can't even afford to steal away a precious minute from the joy of imagining what would be inside it just to take a peek at the calender and take grip of the reality--the reality that December 25 is still 24 days away.
Curiosity is taking hold of you. And you are taking hold of the gift. Shaking it. Listening to what it could be. A hard thing. A heavy one. By the way it looks, you know it's special. And by the way it sounds, you know it's extraordinary. Yes, you could just say it even without knowing what actually is inside. Pictures of the things you wanted--everything good you wanted--flooded your mind. But hey, your mom called out your name and says, "Wait for Christmas." In as much as you would like to ignore her voice, you convinced yourself to do so. Somehow you did.
Days pass by and every time you come inside your house you see it. You see it like there is no other thing to see. You see it like as if it's shouting your name telling you, "Open me!" Once. Just once, you listen. You come closer and pick it up. You shake it again. But it is not enough anymore. You have to see even just the carton. Oh well, just the carton. Maybe it will give a clue. Not the real gift anyway. Just a clue. To satisfy you. So you slowly and carefully (veeeeery carefully) take off the scotch tape with an intent to return it later. Just one scotch tape. And you successfully did. You see that the carton is corrugated and has a yellow color. Again, pictures flew inside your mind. This time, they are quite different than before. Better. Grander. And more tempting to dig deeper, to find out more. But you stopped. realizing that maybe you could wait a little longer. You return the scotch tape. No one would notice that you tried to open it. No harm done, you said.
Few days pass and then, you catch yourself off guard. You are again standing face to face with that gift. Oh the fancy colors never fail to catch your attention. You say to yourself that you did it once, so maybe twice won't hurt.
Twice.
Then thrice.
You did it.
Again.
And again.
And again.
And things do not happen the way you planned it. Because in every attempt to savor the gift, you open it bigger than before. But you have not noticed. You couldn't care less.
December 21. The last thing you remember is you are holding the gift, all torn from the behind, and reading the title of the book that lays behind the wrapper. The book you have wanted all your life. You are so happy. In fact, happy won't give justice to what you are feeling. It is an understatement. But for the sake of having a term, yes, you are happy. Extremely happy. You are just so excited that you put all the care you have in making the gift like brand new. You fixed it and placed it heedfully under the tree. You turned away like as if nothing happened.
The night came when your family gather around the tree. Yes, Christmas came. You are singing songs of merriment like no one's listening. You dance with your dad while your brother is dancing pretending he is dancing with Jessica Alba. Your mom laughs boisterously as your sister puts on the Santa's beard. There is no room for sorrow now, not even regret. Absolutely not regret.
Your mom took the gifts placed under the tree. She handed one to your dad. Of course they shared a kiss. After that, she handed the round gift to your brother. No doubt it is a ball. It just bounced when your brother did not catch it. Then, the gift wrapped in a fancy paper was handed to you. It looks like the same as when your mom first brought it under the tree. Not even a hint was showing what was done. You smiled. But you see your brother so excited of what he is receiving despite the obvious fact, you wonder. When your sister took hold of her gift, she is like staring at it too careful to even break the ribbon. You again wonder. But you manage to put a smile. Your dad take the gift he had for your mom and hug her while giving it. Everyone is clueless of what they are receiving. Everyone but you.
"One. Two. Three!" That is how you traditionally open a gift. You stand there more than willing to wait for 3 seconds. Unlike 24 days. You open it. From behind. You are quite used on how to open it. And there, the book. The same book you saw 4 days ago. Nothing changed. It's just different. Everyone is so happy with their gifts. You are happy too. You mean, were happy too. Now, all there is for you, is pretension. That you have done nothing.
(The poem is written by Ruth Senter for Brio Magazine)
Perfect indeed. But there is this teeny-weeny detail that you failed to see--or just ignored to see. It is printed in red. Bold letters. It says: "for Christmas". But you just can't notice it when all you have to see is the big present that is just placed by your mom under the Christmas tree. And you can't take your eyes off it. You can't even afford to steal away a precious minute from the joy of imagining what would be inside it just to take a peek at the calender and take grip of the reality--the reality that December 25 is still 24 days away.
Curiosity is taking hold of you. And you are taking hold of the gift. Shaking it. Listening to what it could be. A hard thing. A heavy one. By the way it looks, you know it's special. And by the way it sounds, you know it's extraordinary. Yes, you could just say it even without knowing what actually is inside. Pictures of the things you wanted--everything good you wanted--flooded your mind. But hey, your mom called out your name and says, "Wait for Christmas." In as much as you would like to ignore her voice, you convinced yourself to do so. Somehow you did.
Days pass by and every time you come inside your house you see it. You see it like there is no other thing to see. You see it like as if it's shouting your name telling you, "Open me!" Once. Just once, you listen. You come closer and pick it up. You shake it again. But it is not enough anymore. You have to see even just the carton. Oh well, just the carton. Maybe it will give a clue. Not the real gift anyway. Just a clue. To satisfy you. So you slowly and carefully (veeeeery carefully) take off the scotch tape with an intent to return it later. Just one scotch tape. And you successfully did. You see that the carton is corrugated and has a yellow color. Again, pictures flew inside your mind. This time, they are quite different than before. Better. Grander. And more tempting to dig deeper, to find out more. But you stopped. realizing that maybe you could wait a little longer. You return the scotch tape. No one would notice that you tried to open it. No harm done, you said.
Few days pass and then, you catch yourself off guard. You are again standing face to face with that gift. Oh the fancy colors never fail to catch your attention. You say to yourself that you did it once, so maybe twice won't hurt.
Twice.
Then thrice.
You did it.
Again.
And again.
And again.
And things do not happen the way you planned it. Because in every attempt to savor the gift, you open it bigger than before. But you have not noticed. You couldn't care less.
December 21. The last thing you remember is you are holding the gift, all torn from the behind, and reading the title of the book that lays behind the wrapper. The book you have wanted all your life. You are so happy. In fact, happy won't give justice to what you are feeling. It is an understatement. But for the sake of having a term, yes, you are happy. Extremely happy. You are just so excited that you put all the care you have in making the gift like brand new. You fixed it and placed it heedfully under the tree. You turned away like as if nothing happened.
The night came when your family gather around the tree. Yes, Christmas came. You are singing songs of merriment like no one's listening. You dance with your dad while your brother is dancing pretending he is dancing with Jessica Alba. Your mom laughs boisterously as your sister puts on the Santa's beard. There is no room for sorrow now, not even regret. Absolutely not regret.
Your mom took the gifts placed under the tree. She handed one to your dad. Of course they shared a kiss. After that, she handed the round gift to your brother. No doubt it is a ball. It just bounced when your brother did not catch it. Then, the gift wrapped in a fancy paper was handed to you. It looks like the same as when your mom first brought it under the tree. Not even a hint was showing what was done. You smiled. But you see your brother so excited of what he is receiving despite the obvious fact, you wonder. When your sister took hold of her gift, she is like staring at it too careful to even break the ribbon. You again wonder. But you manage to put a smile. Your dad take the gift he had for your mom and hug her while giving it. Everyone is clueless of what they are receiving. Everyone but you.
"One. Two. Three!" That is how you traditionally open a gift. You stand there more than willing to wait for 3 seconds. Unlike 24 days. You open it. From behind. You are quite used on how to open it. And there, the book. The same book you saw 4 days ago. Nothing changed. It's just different. Everyone is so happy with their gifts. You are happy too. You mean, were happy too. Now, all there is for you, is pretension. That you have done nothing.
(The poem is written by Ruth Senter for Brio Magazine)You have a gift. Given to you. That you will someday give. Will you give it half open? Or with just a little scratch? With a little tear too little to be noticed? Or just as it is when it was given to you--perfectly? You can see what is inside. And find out what's inside. No harm done. Or at least you can pretend that there is no harm done. But you will wake up one day, and it will only be a thing... a gift no more.
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