I'd like for Christmas to stay the same, always.  There's something about tradition that just warms the heart like a cup of hot chocolate on a relatively cooler night.  I'd like for it to always start out with me always antsy and excited over absolutely nothing and everything.  It should always start out with me suddenly downloading anything and everything Christmas-related, like an album or a movie.  And then on the days leading to the 24th, all I'd be doing would be watching and listening and planning and wishing.   I couldn't (or wouldn't) be bothered by schoolwork, no matter how high the pile is.

We're always late for mass on the 24th, always arriving the Banson Family reunion late (either traffic, or getting lost, just something).  My siblings and I would awkwardly choose a table because no matter how many reunions we have, we never really get to know anyone.  We'd also leave early because Noche Buena is always in our Great Grandfather's house.  He's gone now, so I guess it's more our Great Grandma's house.  Not all things stay the same.  We'd always have the family pictures first before we all ravage the dining table.  Hams, eggs, queso de bola.  Some variable food choice (This year it was t-bone steak).  And then, hot tsokolate.  The sort that's made from tablea (the best kind for Christmas).  After we'd run to the living room where we distribute gifts and hoot for every person that receives one.  Nobody hooted this year.  Sometimes we leave before 12, if we do we get all giddy in the car and shout our greetings then.
We'd get home and we'd have our gifts delivered by Santa.  This year, because my kid sister included me in her letter, Santa gave me a toy harmonica.  I guess I'd been nice.

The 25th always started out early and bright.  This year it rained.  We'd have lunch next door, our grandma's house from the father's side.  Family pictures, and then an onslaught of gifts and red envelopes.  I really like receiving red envelopes.  We'd go home and rest for a while, although no one really gets any rest from being too full (from the food) and too excited (from the gifts).

Then we'd go all the way to Quezon City, battling whatever holiday rush there is.  Food, pictures, gifts.  And me staying over.  This year I didn't stay over.  I really didn't feel like getting drunk or tipsy for whatever lame reason.  So this year I went home and played Monopoly with my younger siblings and lost.

#there is no point to this post ok
   

At night, I like holding a warm (not steaming) mug of tea while I sit Indian-style on my computer chair.  I like it when the music is low and gentle (almost like a lullaby), and everyone's asleep.  The night belongs to me.  I'm making a list (an actual list, mental notes are useless).   It's a random rundown of things I'd like to get for Christmas and things I need to buy for my plates.  It's sort of all jumbled up and, really, there's no use classifying them.

(a preview)

• a flashlight (plate), 
• cheap glasses (One each for "Pencils", "Pens", "Colored Pencils" and "Etc.") (Christmas), 
• black cartolina (plate), 
• a mug cover (Christmas),
• that nice stool from Dimensione (Christmas and plate)
• a camera (Life)

I'm also filling out my December calendar with deadlines and dates. Christmas is near, but Christmas break seems so unachievable.  There is this little Christmas tree that I put up on my desk every year.  I love the season, really (more the anticipation than the actual thing usually).  My mind, contrary to all the lists I've been making (organization?), is fuzzy with thoughts of this and that.  At one point I'm thinking about how socially awkward I am (Then I replay humiliating scenes with this exemplified).  At another, I'm thinking I need money.  Sometimes I also think of parallel realities.  Like me having (ideally) my own unit (like a condo or an apartment) and living the hell out of it.   And then I'm thinking about my blog and how desolate it has come to be (There are words, always, but never the time).  I'm also thinking about all that I am not and how miserable that makes me.  You can never shake off the words said to you in anger.  And then it just all goes downhill from there and I don't know where to pick myself up.

But sometimes though, and I haven't quite figured out if it's a good or a bad thing, it's just blank.  No thoughts.  Silence. But not peace, not exactly.