“The world is a wonderful place, but the sense of wonder is a muscle that must be cultivated like any other.”
The December air hits my skin and I allow the chilly breeze to engulf me in an embrace. Christmas season comes knocking right around the corner and I feel the excitement coursing through my body—only to be met with dull and indifferent faces.
I stumble back, appalled that the people surrounding me act like they couldn't care less about this beloved occasion. The question spills from my lips before I could stop myself and it lingers in the air for a long while—how come you're not excited when it's almost Christmas?
They gaze back and see right through me, almost incredulously as if I asked something horrendous. The sky was overcast as its teardrops threatened to pour, they finally leaned in to whisper dejectedly:
Christmas isn’t the same anymore, there’s nothing to be excited about. So why should we bother?
They surmised with a hiss, condescension lacing their tones. I feel a droplet of rain touch my skin, and another, and then another, till I can no longer tell the difference between the sky’s tears from my own. I reach out to them with a shaky hand, as if it would change their minds, but the ground beneath me crumbles apart like an icy lake that froze just in time for winter.
I fall deep into an inky void, thrashing around hopelessly. I close my eyes when no one arrives to my aid. With utter hesitance and contemplation, I admit to myself that perhaps with age comes the reality that we may never experience true elation that we felt as mere children, mindlessly wandering wherever our little feet may take us with only our imagination as our weapon against the world.
I jolt awake, cautiously peering at my surroundings. I let my guard down once I realized there wasn't any harm, yet confusion clouds my head. I find countless parols and lights cascading down the streets, vendors selling treats and snacks like bibingka and puto bumbong with warmth in their smiles and a twinkle in their eyes. Carolers stroll everywhere in the street to fill the air with their mellifluous voices as they spread joy through songs, and children are running around with the biggest grins on their faces and giggle fits that you would think are contagious. I marvelled at the gigantic Christmas tree at the town’s center near the church, illuminating the whole place and it fills you with a sense of solace, albeit there's a persistent glee along with it.
That’s when it dawned on me, that the holiday cheer has never disappeared nor did it ever die. I stood up from where I found myself in—a puddle—and I stared at my reflection in it, seeing a glimmer in my eyes. So I let myself run free with a shout of exuberance, allowing myself to experience happiness that knows no bounds.
My imagination roams freely, like a wild horse whose spirit could not be broken. Recapturing that wonder I once had is simpler than I thought—I think of the times I designed a parol and decorated our Christmas tree, the days I watched some corny Hallmark movies just to have a good laugh, dancing under the Christmas lights while I opened up the gifts I received from our “Monito Monita,” feasting with loved ones for noche buena, singing a ton of Christmas carols and participating in a series of games with friends, appreciating the things and toys I got as gifts, and so much more. Who cares if I am perceived as childish? I was born to live and love loudly!
And so I’ll leave you with this, for you to keep the spirit of Christmas alive: You must protect and keep your childlike wonder—for it is the most valuable gift you will ever receive in this lifetime, and the next.
Article: Denise Nicole Bate Paulino
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