Day 37: christmas and my beloved anti-christs


I can’t.

Not yet.

But for what it is worth, Merry Christmas.

One of my disciples, a woman who don’t want to be named, told me to write a Christmas article in time for the holidays.  I frowned with the idea knowing how flaky the subject matter was to me.  I was already set on writing something about the horrendous Christmas shopping rush that I encountered yesterday at the Deira City Centre and alongside, about the dementia of twittering even to which underwear you are wearing for the day on Twitter.  It was not intended for me to write what I am writing now for the simple reason that Christmas, in all its star of wonder glory, is so overrated.  Like Valentine’s Day.  Well, I don’t know about you but I grew up with all the Christmas mush as a kid and I felt so mislead by all of that.  I have had my dose of Santa Clauses and charcoals and candies and carols and traditional manipulations and I have had ENOUGH !!!

But here’s to Christmas.  I am writing about it.  Or what it can be a proxy of.  In my carnal abomination of a life.

In light with the prelude of the birth of CHRIST, an anti-Christ arrived in the house.  And it was the only thing that made me feel Christmasy in all fairness:  the arrival of Baby Gavin.  The little wonder is my friend Joanne’s son, who lives with me.  Since he came, the murky walls of maroon and hot pink of our house melted into glittering silver as the sun came inside the rooms, filling each corner with incandescent fascination.  The power that Gavin brought to our opaque asylum of a house was enough for Caspar, Melchior and Balthasar to decompass their search for Bethlehem for Dubai and its holy sheen.

I called The Woman Who Can’t Be Named and told her I am doing the Christmas article anyway and will call it My Beloved Anti-Christs.  The woman choked and called me blasphemous of children.

“Jon, you are so bad!  Why do you keep calling kids anti-Christs?  That is so mean.”

“Because there are!  They don’t have a sense of rationality and they are basically unequipped for any form of judgment or ethicality.  They are stupid.  And they can’t understand the meaning of Shut the Fuck Up.”

The woman, whose name is still under negotiations, rested her case and called me a lunatic.  I said, “Thanks.”  and went to Toys ‘R Us to buy last minute milk bottles, a baby bull cap and shit things for Gavin.  My last round of holiday shopping before the eve of Christmas so to speak.

At Demons ‘R Us, I found myself surrounded by booger-nosed little devils who chased each other for their soiree of devil worship in and around the toy shop.  I had to roll my eyes and wished for the heavens the cashier would finish up quickly so I can get out of the line, get back to the house, and attempt to feel CHRISTmasy.  The counter girl did not.  Instead, she gushed at the gifts the parents had to buy for their children.  Her Awwwss derailed the train outside.

Then the daughter of the man in front of me stood next to me and looked at me.  I dusted my coat and inspected her intentions.  She stared at me long and hard.  I smiled at her, with my eyes widening madly like I was going to devour her.  She flinched and held her dad’s arm knowing that she came face to face with The Baby Monster. In flesh and blood.

It is so ironic that kids are so drawn to me.  They stop to look.  They smile at me.  I smile back but that’s it.  It is peculiar.

This, and other barbaric customary approach I always do with kids unapologetically for the simple reason that I was born to be among adults being the first-born and had to put up with 5 younger children whose wails I had to grow up with and whose  bio-psychological landscapes I clasped, with calloused hands, mindlessly for years. It was all picturesque and stomach-churning at the same time.  I have had ENOUGH !!!

A bit agitated by the overrated and overpriced Christmas merchandise, I walked out of Demons ‘R Us and suddenly remembered my sister’s kids.  Joaquin, Apple, Twinkle and Jed.  My beloved anti-Christs and how I will be to them when they grow up.  I mean, I have always been a strict and a conformist uncle to them because I don’t want them to turn out like me and my twisted sisters.  But I am certain that I will be their best friend after they turn 18.  I know it.  I am very sure that their parents will not understand them the way I WILL.

I decided to write them letters that they will not understand today but hopefully slot in gracefully once they grow up.  All for this spiritless Christmas that I am trying to resuscitate in this twitchy little head of mine.

Dearest Jed,

You are my favorite nephew because I think you smile through your own pain.  You remind me of me when I used to do my hideouts way back when.  Nothing wrong with that at all.  I think you are a budding intellectual, even better than your great grandfather Gavino was, for the simple reason that you are charismatic and can enjoy solitude and being among your friends all at the same time.  Do you have friends anyway?

In the midst of the electric current from your big brother’s echoes, his influence on you (again, not bad at all because Joaquin is a brilliant boy) and your unsure dab of colors in your watercolor paintings that I saw last summer, always remember not to be invaded. As you go through life, people will relentlessly assault your world for their own advantage.  This world is full of addiction and I think the 11th Commandment of God should have been Thou Shall Not Be Addicted. On second thought, BE invaded, only because you want to know how its texture feels in your hands or how it tastes in your tongue.  And then walk away.  You will know one day that you have to undertake even the most bottomless ideas to understand them with precision.

Listen to your parents because they know what they are saying.  Your father is one of my closest friends, so you are lucky to have him for a dad.  Your mother calls you her joy.  Please don’t take that against her because your exceptional brain can take its toll (and seriously, I maneuvered my own parents’ head when I was in my teens as well) and that is betrayal.  Be wary in the engineering of your world, Jed.  It is both exciting and thorny.  Don’t worry, your Uncle Jon is here to do the plumbing when your thoughts starts to leak.  I love you with all my heart.  For the record, you are the only kid who genuinely likes me.  For that alone, you deserve my attention.

And use condoms when you start having sex.

Dearest Twinkle,

I called your mother The Coquette because she looks at life with sensuality and crazed perspective.  She is a beautiful trooper who laughs when she is disturbed and cries stupidly when elated.  Don’t mix it up in the future because knowing how fiery and stubborn you can be with your candor and premature narcissism, I can see clashes in the future.  Listen to me and listen well.  You are an intensely motivated little person and your confidence is amazing but also remember to delight your spirit with basic kindness and to use it to be even more beautiful.  Twinx, you got your mother’s talent and I hope you exploit it by inspiring the people around you.  It is a gift from the heavens and it is your responsibility to feed it with humility and spread it not only for yourself but to everyone around you.  Also, be careful with your imagination.  I can see how it can magnify.  Use it for beauty at all times.  And maybe poetry if ever you plan to write.

Life is full of commotion and it is inevitable that we sometimes dwell in them, if not trigger them.  Know the rules, baby, so you will know in the future how to break them.  If it is worth breaking at all.  Also, remember to study well in school.  It is a humdrum of repetitive discourses that can deplete your natural born impatience but education prepares you for everything in life.  Especially for freedom.  And nothing is free in this world except for the freedom to think.

Lastly, love and understand your mother.  She is the most misunderstood woman in the world because like me, she is also a drifter, investigating her own versions of love inside herself.  Watch her journey and cheer her on because in many ways, she is also watching yours and loving every single moment of it.

Dearest Joaquin,

All of us are your friends and I am very happy that we are.  With your brilliance and in-born restraint, you got us instantly.  Amid your accomplishments in excellence and discipline, you have remained self-effacing and calm in your shores. When I gave you The Little Prince this year to read, I wanted to sharpen your metaphors to prepare you for the ironies that will be discharged by life as you go along.  Your opinions scare me because it is raw and dressed as a maniac.  You must realize soon that we choose what we do but mainly we are caught up in the rapture of wonderment rather than being responsible towards it.  Yes, life is philosophical but you also need to listen to your heart.  Bear in mind that our energies make up what we become and your energy, my love, is beyond imagination.  You are tenacious, righteous and uncorrupted.  Channel your mind with the power of what your heart can do.  You are a good boy anyway, so keep up the good work, son.

Your mother Angeline is a wonderful person and a very good friend of mine.  She helped me many times in recovering my ever-dangling self and understood my desires, good and bad, like no one else did.  Be close to her because it will help you comprehend your voyage even to the most paradoxical of all oceans.

And just between you and me:  you are her best friend.

Dearest Apple,

How you have grown up!  And full of mystery that it is almost breathtaking!

Everyone thinks that you are your grandmother’s replica both inside and out.  I may have to disagree. My mother, your lola, is an immovable woman who lived her 60 years making things happen for her intractable 6 children using her governing skills with refinement and her infamous soft-spoken harsh tongue.  You, on the other hand, is a much gentler goddess, whose warm heart is still covered in snow and whose fervor is bottled up inside.  Ready to thaw.  Ready to explode.

You are an introverted Catholic girl who keenly prayed and did her homework stupendously.  You are a dazzling portrayal of a sexy valedictorian which reminds me of your Aunt Dess when she was your age.  Like her, you like to dance, sing and dress up but also have this indestructible faith in God and in academic virtuosity.  Your mother Noreen have enough reason to thank her lucky stars for you.  Being the first-born granddaughter in the family, your arrival changed all of our lives and I want you to regard that power.  I myself was a first-born grandson and everyone’s first, so, allow me in telling you that you are not only special but also a robust force.  With that at hand, control it well.  Your stillness is advantageous but I am encouraging you to SPEAK.  Being a valedictorian is wonderful but you also have to resurrect your sleeping passion because what is there to contentment anyway if you are not going to be heard?

You are a joy to us, Apple.

Keep reading too.  It will help you gratify your burning itch to come out stronger as you are now and face the world knowing how GREAT it is to be ALIVE.

And yes, there is a God only because there is always HOPE.

Happy Christmas.


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