Watching this transaction from the stairway reconfigured everything I had imagined for Christmas. Here was a convergence of two diverse cultures, from opposing ends of the Earth, and the children would align themselves into a single line, waiting for their names to be called by their parents to receive their long awaited bonuses for the year. They've been very good this year it seems.
The party was delightful. The kids were cherry, the parents were merry, and the food, exquisite. Well... nostalgic to a certain extent, due to familiar flavors from the East, with a certain influence from Western recipes. It was an entire day spent on eating and socializing. Except for Darren, I suppose. Put him in front of a screen and he'll never leave it.
Conversations abound, and there were a plethora of topics one could find oneself immersed in. In the living room, a celebration of teenage athleticism and how an infusion of peanut roots, pork ribs and some lotus stems boiled for an afternoon would add a couple inches to a kid's height. Though I remember this recipe works only for boys. It had something to do with the peanut roots, I think. In a room upstairs, a congregation of boys enthusing about the latest game, or some sporting event. Though the computer has been exclusively reserved for Darren's gaming ventures. I guess the host family was prepared. Then again, they own at least two widescreen TVs. Out in the backyard, I was trying a familiar game myself.
Archery. With a traditional English longbow. Just a slender piece of wood and a string attached to it. I wasn't sure if it was constructed out of yew, ash or elm, though its rigidity does remind one of the last option. The quiver was hand-crafted by the host himself, but the arrows were rather worn out. Most of the fletchings were badly in need of repairs, or replacement. Yet, the twanging of arrows was a wonderful resonance to my ears. Perhaps, I should consider investing in one too. My aim wasn't that rusty. Although it wasn't as accurate as before, it still was surprisingly consistent.
And so, with these isolated micro-events happening in-and-about the house, the day passed by quickly for all of us guests. After dinner was served and everyone had a glass of wine in their hands, I somehow found myself amongst the circle of Malaysian parents, who, by now, were reminiscing dead acquaintances and friends.
...
An ironic topic of choice for Christmas chatter, I know. Yet, it got me thinking about the fragility of life. Here they were, speaking about individuals they knew who weren't amongst them for dinner; who came home one day after a tiring week at the office, had take-home dinner, watched prime time drama from ABC, slept on the sofa, and died. Peacefully, in their slumber. Stroke. Maybe a heart attack. It could've even been divine intervention. But they were so young. 48. 58. Barely 60. "The good ones always die young."
Oddly enough, at 20, I was afraid. Afraid of falling asleep and dying without realizing it. Would I have a chance to relive one more day, to do everything I need, to make sure everything was prepared for my untimely departure? Would it even matter? I stoned, not shivered, at the thought. But the adults were laughing over it. Innocently joking about how this guy never filed in his paperwork for more than a month, and then they later realized he had been dead for more than a month. Life's rotating, revolving, churning at the snap of the fingers. Who knows who would be next on Death's list?
I thought I was weird. Thought it was weird to think of something like this, at my age. I wondered if any of the kids were bothered by the thought. Yet there they were. Giggling innocently over a joke, that's no longer humorous to my ears, hands etched out in front of them for cake. Chris was born on December 25. Lucky kid.
A celebration of life, and an epiphany for the dead. Carpe diem at its best. I'm not emo-ing. I'm just pondering. But until the end, which I hope, won't happen for a very, very long time,
Merry Christmas to you all~
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