A holiday to remember
It was not a holiday season to remember. Aside from the painstaking labors of the family to renovate our home following the ravages of the recent storms, the new business I put up with some friends wasn’t doing well.
We had one client — one — over the course of the last few months; and suffice to say it hardly made a dent in the stacks of receipts we received from the Bureau of Internal Revenue. That, plus the expense of electric bills, phone bills, gifts and whatnots, and you’ve got yourself a lean, mean yuletide season.
Things had gotten so bad in fact, that one night, over a sumptuous feast of leftover rice and roadside isaw, I could not even afford a second serving. I tried to distract my stomach by reading a book, but made the fatal mistake of selecting one that was written by a well-known chef. Before long, I was so famished that I finally went out and braved the long line at this nearby pizza place, clutching in my hand a worn-out credit card.
The night was unusually crisp and cool, the air wafting a sense of celebration as families, friends and lovers gathered around their respective tables al fresco and stuffed their happiness in front of my sorry face. Perhaps more so than hunger, the lack of companionship and love is much more devastating to the solitary man.
As I reached the counter, I ordered the cheapest pie on the menu and spoke in a voice so soft as to make sure that, except for the cashier, no one else could overhear it. I went over to an empty table and waited — doing my best not to drool over the scrumptious meals the other diners were having.
When the cashier (that bitch) yelled out that my card was maxed out and asked if I was kind enough to pay with cash, my face was suddenly flush with red. I had but P17 in my pocket and had no other option but to walk down the line of shame and retrieve my darn Visa without the pie.
You know the feeling you get in a dream where you’re naked in front of hundreds of people? It was worse. It was worse because it was real and the way that I exited the place with my head bowed in extreme embarrassment did little to hide it.
I was so depressed I couldn’t drag my feet to go straight home. Instead, I decided to take a little stroll along the shops that only popped up during that time of year. Everywhere I looked people were haggling over prices, munching peanuts and carrying bags of goodies, no doubt to be brought home and enjoyed that very night.
Near a makeshift parking space overlooking the city’s food district, public lanterns displayed a feel of wonder and ornaments glittered as if a worldwide recession never occurred in the first place. Distorted music blasted over cheap speakers, singing of little elves, fancy maidens and fruit baskets, while near the railings, the bright lights of the city were never clearer; and it accentuated the illusion of a very Merry Christmas, indeed.
Perhaps some poor sap in a state as shitty as mine would’ve thought this too overwhelming and too intense to live up to. Not this guy.
I actually relished in it. The part where I could actually see myself in high spirits like the others, where money — and more importantly, love — was never a hindrance to the holidays; where food was readily available, and where I was one of the really beautiful people — even if it was all just pretending for one night.
I finally got back to my place, and rearranged the modest presents I had got my folks and baby brother and tucked them underneath the bed. My hunger no longer bothered me and I thanked God for finally making it go away.
As I rested my head snugly on my hard-as-a-rock pillow, I got a call from my mum, asking me if it was all right to only have a couple of dishes ready for New Year’s eve dinner tomorrow.
“Of course,” I said, and smiled for the first time that night. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
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E-mail: estabillo_rt@yahoo.com and estabillo.matthew@gmail.com.
