Last Christmas
Sunday, December 17, 2006
♥ Sunday, December 17, 2006
Christmas.
The story began the way everyone already remembered it to be. The boy in the manger, the 3 wisemen, the star and that family. That place and the angels.
Then came along the other generous guy. So generous he was canonized. And then, suddenly he became a mystical bearded man who lives in the North (or was it South) Pole, with elves and present-making factories. He rode on a sleigh. Everyone knows the song.
Then the boy who knew both stories grew up. He knew one was false and one was true. Only problem was he was aloof to which was which. Thus lie became truth, and truth, lie. The boy that was born became a fantasy, and the old man who rode a sleigh and fulfilled children's dreams became the truth.
The boy who knew both stories went through one christmas after another. The boy had neither calender nor watch, he had no account of either time nor date. How he figured it was christmas was when the war stopped and people on opposite ends shook hands and played ball with each other. They gave each other pies and drink.
For that 24 hours, no one would fire, no one would scold and no blood would spill. Killers became lovers. And yes, there's the snow. The snow that blanketed all the bodies and for that one particular instant, it was as if time itself had a way of masking the woundedness of reality with a white veil. The season that brought history into life. The boy that was born where the donkeys were, became the very reason 2 men torn apart by strife came together to share a drink, in hearty laughter.
The boy became a man. There was peace in the land, but the war in the man continued. Christmas now became a reminder. A nostalgic reminder of what used to be, and what it is now. The snowing stopped and so nothing hid the corpses. The corpses of familiar people, friends and family alike. The man was a ravaged land, with a battle that would never seem to end. He could neither put a finger to who the enemy was, nor the battle he was fighting for. But there definitely was a battle- the number of wounds proliferated.
The man walked around the earth and christmas became tuesday, wednesday and thursday. There was no more christmas, no more baby in the manger, no more old man on a sleigh. There was neither truth nor lie, only the man that was a boy. He'd seen asia, he'd seen europe and he'd seen america.
The man was tired and slept. He closed his eyes and suddenly saw everything- his life, his pains and his losses. They say when you die, your entire life flashes in front of you. For that instance, that man saw the boy. The boy that believed in the child in the manger and the old man on a sleigh. The boy that saw the war stop and the snow settle.
What was that. His eyes felt wet and his vision blurred. He remembers the war, the tiresome onslaught of criticism and mockery. He remembers growing up. He remembers not believing anymore. Its as if when one sleeps, the eyes are turned on themselves, and the windows of one's soul lays bare for himself to see. Thats the war everyone goes through. The war between the conscious saying 'everything's fine' and the unconscious berating the mess up.
And the man cries. The boy laughs.
The snow falls and the wounds close.
Christmas.
