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The writer does not intend to but tends to make silly remarks that make others laugh. Sometimes she enjoys this unintentional trait of hers, and sometimes she detests it. But nevertheless, she loves to laugh at silly things, both good and bad, mostly little silly things, because she finds that life is too short to spend it sulking away. She also tends to be sarcastic with her words because the subtlety of dry humour makes her laugh even more and lightheartedly at those who "just don't get it."

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A Christmas Raptor

Saturday, December 24, 2005

Before I get into my usual rants and idle thinking, I would like to wish all of you a Merry Christmas or a Joyeux Noël (as they say in French).

As a child, Christmas was special because it was one of the few times a poor kid like me could get presents, other than birthdays. As a I grew a little older, Christmas connotated a more religious dimension because my mother decided that we, the whole family, should convert to Roman Catholicism. After that, Christmas became special because of three things: presents, school holidays and midnight mass. Presents were essential to a child's life because they made him feel special, like he was the only kid in the world. School holidays meant being able to play computer games (console rather, remember the Sega mega drive?) all day long, pausing briefly only for lunch breaks or toilet breaks, because my mother would lock the Sega drive during the school term. So far, the above two reasons have been selfish desires of a kid. Now midnight mass was special because I discovered that we could dress up prettily and go to church and find everyone else dressed equally as nice, or not better, plus the fact that the Christmas lights were beautiful and the presence of God seemed stronger where everyone was gathered in the happy spirit of the joyous occasion.

As I passed into the more conscious level of the life, I discovered the joy of writing and sending Christmas cards. This, unfortunately, seems to have been lost with the coming of time and the internet where everything was electronic, including cards. Nevertheless, I still continue writing real cards with real writing and real material that others could keep, even after Christmas and the previous Christmases. Now I assume they keep their cards because I do, perhaps out of nostalgia or simply because they're too nice to be thrown away, so you could just imagine how much junk I have in my house because of the above reasons, but let us not go there for the time being, shall we?

Speaking of Christmas presents, my nine-year-old sister has got a humongous present from my brother (who is notorious, at least in my family, for not remembering birthdays and for not giving any presents): a roboraptor, which I think costs about a hundred over bucks at Toys'R'us. Ah yes, my sister couldn't contain her excitement and has ripped her present open to unveil the enormity of it all. All this enthusiasm, despite that fact that she practically coerced my brother into buying it for her just last night. And knowing my brother and my father (and sometimes my mother and myself for that matter), we have a soft side for my sister's 'puppy' looks and requests. My, my, it is quite a large robo-dinosaur and has a remote control. No wonder it costs so much for that darned thing. Now my house is in an uproar, with everyone searching for AAA batteries in order to make the thing work... Nope, we do not seem to have a single battery in the house, despite having searched the house for it, and that darned roboraptor needs six. *Pause*

My sister and her entourage (consisting of my little cousins) have just entered the room, asking for AAA batteries a second time. "No." They leave the room, followed by my father who comes in to ask the same question. "No." I think he is just as excited as they (my sister and my cousins) are at seeing the roboraptor work. They have just given up on the search for AAA batteries and have resigned it to the fate of buying them tomorrow. Well, the raptor can afford to come alive tomorrow I suppose. My family believes in toys and laughter, except perhaps for my mother sometimes who lets her fierce side overtake the childish side of her sometimes. Toys and games were mandatory (and still is I think) for our growing up, we could never have grown up without them. Laughter included lame jokes and 'cold' jokes, even my sister has in recent years inherited this trait. Wait... I hear unhuman roaring sounds. *Pause*

The roboraptor is alive! My father has mysteriously found enough batteries to make it work. My little cousins and sister are squealing both out of delight and fear (it does look ferocious after all). My father and uncle are laughing at their reactions and shouting out instructions on how to make the raptor move: "One of the buttons makes the raptor bite!" or "Be careful! Don't break its tail!" I think they would have liked to have the raptor in their own childhood. So would I actually. Come to think of it, I never had a roboraptor for Christmas, nor for any of my birthdays. We weren't able to afford it then.

The commotion continues... my little cousins and sister are still screaming and laughing over the raptor. This year, instead of a Christmas tree, we have a Christmas raptor. Why do we not have a Christmas tree this year, and last year for that matter? My mother has packed it into a box upon moving to our temporary abode now and has never retrieved it since, claiming that we'd have to move out soon enough and only then could we release the Christmas tree and all its decorations into the open. Two Christmases has passed. Where has the joy of the Christmas tree gone? As a child, I would excitedly volunteer, together with my brother, to help build the Christmas tree and place each decoration carefully in the midst of the tree.

But we now have a Christmas raptor.

8:07 pm
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