Even harder

than the packing itself is the deciding what book you are going to bring along on the trip.

Safe travels everyone, and see you in 2009.

Snippet from a conversation between two old friends at Christmas

"Why are you breathing so heavily? Are you pregnant?"

"Hahahah, you're so funny. I'm touching myself..."

"Hahahahahah..."

"I'm cooking the Christmas meal as I talk to you!"

"Oh...me I'm lying here digesting the Christmas meal."

What is it

about being on just this particular spot on the equator that makes it gray, cloudy and drizzly at Christmas?

Something to look forward to

Every Sunday, when I was growing up, my grandmother's children would bring their families back to her house on Espana Extension, the one with the green grilled gate under the large mango tree. After Sunday mass, we would flock together for at least two meals - lunch and merienda, and in the early days, even dinner. How she fed her clan including yayas and drivers is still a mind-boggling mystery to me. I like to think it was like the five loaves of bread and the three fishes, mixed in with the jugs of wedding wine. There was always, miraculously, more than enough. After lunch, the womenfolk would gather around the table for more conversation. The men would retire to the various corners of the large house for naps or chess. And the children? We cousins would run wild through the house, in the sala, in the porch, upstairs, downstairs, in the garden, in the garage, in Lola's own room even...playing hide-and-seek or ping-pong, climbing trees or exploring, talking, and just..."hanging"...before that word was even invented. Sometimes, we would put on plays. Sometimes, we would just play. And the end of the day would often take us by surprise.

"What? We're going na?"

And we would all think, sometimes even say it out loud. Where did the day go? We were having so much fun.

It's been years since those Sunday reunions, but each and every one of us looks back on those days with fond recollection.

This New Year's Eve, the clan will gather in Baguio City - we are much bigger clan now, with many of us cousins having families of our own. Still, right this very minute, we are all joyfully anticipating this two-day multiple family get-together, even though Lola is long gone, and the old house on Espana extension no longer stands where it used to. We know that for this brief time there will be laughter and reminscing amid the catching up and sharing of stories. We no longer know each other the way we used to, and will likely need some time to get our bearings. Nevertheless, all it will take is for eyes to meet and smiles to spread...and it will be like it was, ever so briefly, all over again. And from where she is, Lola will be laughing, too.

Holy holiday

Christmas is great, of course. I mean, it's the beginning of the whole story. It's got Santa Claus and gifts and Christmas trees, not to mention, my favorite these days, gingerbread and fruit salad. But I've always though Easter is where it's at - you have all that fasting and pain and hardship, and then you have feasting and merriment and joy. But I think the most underrated holiday is New Year's, even though it is clearly the holiday that can and should be the most meaningful for the individual. A new year is a new slate. The jump-off point for new plans, hopes, and resolutions. It is not an overtly religious holiday, and yet the spiritual overtones are comprehensively inherent. In many ways, I think New Year's Day is about personal commitment. It's about that silent determining in your own heart of the way you want to live, what it is you want to do, and how you are going to take things forward so your life has meaning and you are able to create joy - for the reason you are here, for yourself and for those you hold most dear.

The Christmas Lull

There is a frenzy that comes with every Christmas season - the mad malls, the crowded sidewalks and the traffic jams. People out and about, eating, drinking and making merry. But somehow, in Singapore, around the 19th or the 20th of December, the frenzy dissipates and there arrives a little lull. A spot of quiet. A subtle shift that sort of slows everything down and all of a sudden, you can focus on the cool of the morning breeze. You can find a spot to sit on the train. You can even get a table.

It's because about third (or possibly more) of the those who live here for the greater part of the year hie off to do the holidays some place else. Maybe they go home. Maybe they go away. But they don't stay in sunny Singapore. And those who are left here can enjoy a bit of peace and quiet, a bit of hush out of all the rush.

For the past three or four Christmases now, we've chosen to spend our own little family Christmas in this little lull, enjoying the ease of getting a table at our favorite brunch place or of thinner crowds in the parks, churches, and malls - even on our running trails. We make our way about the city and find it blessedly serene...and we say to each other...isn't this nice? Isn't this great? And we sleep in, and we eat well, and we rest up so we can greet the new year with energy and verve, until the third or fourth of January...when everyone returns, and it starts all over again.

More than half full

In the first hour of my birthday, I read on S' blog that her brain scans no longer show tumors. It was a splendid birthday gift...and it dictated the timbre not just of that day but of the entire week. I am happy and excited and feel very strongly that this is the beginning of her healing. This year has brought many unexpected gifts, and I am very grateful for them. I don't care to list all my blessings here; it is not necessary. I know in my heart I have more than I ever expected. Not only is my glass more than half full. It is a rather lovely glass, and I am thankful for it. That I have a glass to fill.

A meditation on faith

I guess a number of things have been bringing this to a head. First and foremost, more than just a couple of rather difficult questions issuing forth from the mouths of babes - specifically my babes. C has been on this topic on and off for a large part of 2008, asking things like, "Is Jesus really real?" , "Is God really real?" He turns 10 in February. As the Christmas season came underway, my K said, "How did Mama Mary give birth to Jesus if she didn't have sex?" These are simple, straightforward questions and worthy of simple, straightforward answers, and yet, such simplicity is nowhere to be found.

Then there was a recent dinner with a friend who out of the blue makes it known to us his doubt, even his non-belief. This, when we were always quite certain that his was as staunch a faith as any.

But perhaps most difficult to accept is the doubt from the people you love. How to confront the incredulity that tumbles out almost unbidden from those nearest and dearest whose opinion, regard and favor you value, above all else.

They ask, how is it that you can believe such and such? How is it that you can go through the charade beyond the guise of tradition, culture and ritual?

Of course, you understand what they mean. You see why they doubt. You know cognitively how they are compelled to say the things they say. You are all too aware of how your faith appears: cowering, naked, and yes, almost naive and even a little foolish. Like believing in fairy tales.

Yet you struggle to gather together the broken pieces of your belief and you just stand there because you have nothing to say. You cannot defend it with words or explanations. You have none, except the sheer, dogged pulsing spirit.

You belief is not a choice, something that you are able to control.

Your faith is a force.

Despite everything, you simply believe, because you cannot not believe.

The absence of faith - anyone's absence of faith, even your own - feels to you a bit like a void. Non-belief feels too much like self-righteousness and arrogance that after all, draws only upon the limits of a single life that is known, lived and led - their own. It is just one life that leads someone to this conclusion, one life that is a mere drop of water in a universal cascade.

But you feel and know with an inexplicably inner feeling and knowing that there is something more. You take comfort in what has existed for hundreds of years before you, and likely for hundreds of years after you are gone. Because it is there. Because of the way it offers truth and hope that speaks in your life. And your faith finds its strong yet wordless reason in the quiet of your own mind, to the beat of your own heart.