I used to think about Christmas the way others thought about it. I used to think about it like the most special day of the year. I used to think about it was like the happiest day that has to come every year. That’s what I thought about it. That’s how I used to think about it…about Christmas that has never been such special to me.
Back in those days, I was too young to understand about life. Life for me then seemed like no-big-deal to look forward to it. I thought never about death, as well. Nor did I think about success in life, because that time I thought life itself, which kept me from moving, breathing, and understanding wrong understanding about it was already a success. I didn’t even think about keeping it moving to the better, for I understood none of it.
I graduated high school just for the sake of finishing it. I might be such nerd from others’ viewpoint. But that was just me in my simple exercise of my endurance I never thought it would come the way I never expected.
Then, I went to college not for the purpose to study like a pro like the rest at my age did. I had too many things at the back of my mind too assertive to let my passion for a study to die down day by day. And each Christmas to come, I felt like it was just ordinary. Work. Work. Work. Each time I felt tired, I even kept on making myself tired. Because I know nobody would do the things I have to do for me. It was only me and I…nobody.
I graduated college; got a work yet still no time for anything they called life at its best even for a simple “break treat” for myself. I couldn’t understand that and not the way they could understand my life, my experience, my perspective, and my needs.
I went to a graduate school, this time for a master’s degree. Still, life to me wasn’t that natural like the rest of the people I saw around. I could still feel I was different in all respects.
I finished my first semester of my MBA program. I looked back the experiences I had and realized I was just wasting time, AGAIN.
Then, Christmas came. Again, an ordinary day for me. I kept myself busy working, writing articles, speeches, and website content for people I don’t know from early evening until 2 a.m. I heard Christmas whistles, whirring, and bombs. People in my neighborhood outside celebrating Christmas the best the could find it; so were they—my board mates. Yet, still, I couldn’t feel such zest to celebrate Christmas. I rather went to sleep—my not-so-favorite exercise of my soul. I always wanted myself up so I could finish reading everything, writing anything I wanted just to make myself confusingly tired.
Now, Christmas for me is still such like that. I could see from a distance.
This is the story of my life that I don’t want you to understand.