When I was little, Christmas eve was the best day of the year. Best, better than birthdays, even, because no one forgot.
I believed in everything when I was a child- Santa (my mother told me he parked his sleigh on our living room balcony), tooth fairies (she used to put coins under my pillow because I told her how excited I was that my tooth fell out), princesses (I begged and asked if I could sleep on a thousand mattresses stacked my blankets like the Princess and the Pea, but settled for having my blankets tucked under my pillows the way they do in hotels so I’d feel more like royalty), smurfs even (I asked my mother if I could carry my things in a cloth bag tied to the end of a pole)… the list could go one forever. I had a vivid imagination.
When Christmas was around the corner, I remember I made my own cards to Santa, sealed them in an air-mail envelope, scrawled TO MR. SANTA, THE NORTH POLE over it, and drew my own stamp on the right hand side to top it all off. I remember clutching my envelope under my armpit proudly and trooping to the mailbox with a renewed sense of life's purpose, proudly depositing it into the box, sure that Santa would read my mail about my asking for a pony and a game set of Hungry Hippos. And if I didn’t get one for Christmas, I remember thinking I would forgive him because he must be too busy.
And then I learnt later that for Santa to deliver all the presents which childish brats world over want, he could only spend some millionth of a second at each stop; I learnt that it wasn’t possible for tooth fairies to carry international currency; I learnt that I’d much rather be a tough princess (like Belle in Beauty and the Beast) than a wimpy one; and I learnt from my mother that a five year-old carrying a long wooden pole to school might prove rather hazardous.
And so Christmas became about dinner, presents and tales. I did get a game set of Hungry Hippos in the end, under the Christmas tree, to which my mother promised the handwriting on the gift tag was certainly not hers, though it surprised her that it bore a strinking resemblence to Santa's.
Till much later, I never knew the true meaning of Christmas.
This year, things are different.
Christmas is, for once, not a frantic rush of shopping and giving, but a time of reflection, sitting back in gratitude and thanksgiving.
This year, Christmas is Special.
Special, because Grandpa Zhou enjoyed the Christmas concert last Saturday so much. It was apparent he might never have watched a theatre production, for he made comments, so earnestly and loudly, at all the crucial moments, that you couldn’t help but laugh at his child-like earnestness.
"Wa, is that really her singing? Her voice is so good!" He asks in mandarin, raising his voice above the loud tune.
"No, Grandpa Zhou, " I try to whsiper back. "It's a recording. She's lip synching, heh."
At the end of the production, when the True meaning of Christmas was explained, he put his hand high up, straight like a lightning rod, as a pledge of commitment to his new-found faith in life and God, after he decided that he wanted to be God’s friend, too. I cried at that moment, when he went up to the front, excited to be prayed for, for just a year ago, his disdain for God was apparent and disturbing.
“Wow, that was such a good play,” he said. “ Excellent acting. And wah, the sound system here is really really good, eh?”
This year, Christmas is Special.
Special, because this year, we’re going to perform a special Christmas skit to the fringe community in the red light district and give out food to the needy there.
Special, because so many of my wishes came true.
I have family and friends who love and care for me, a White Place that is still my refuge, school assignments and projects which I find joy and fulfillment doing, gatherings of people I love to attend, and a new roadbike too.
Christmas used to be about Santa’s presents, letters within a flower-bordered envelope sent to the North Pole, and yummy puddings. This year, as I shared the Christmas Story with many others as a volunteer along the roads of town, I finally understood for myself the significance of this season of forgiveness, of renewal and of new life.
Christmas is the day Jesus was born, the reason why I'm healed, joyful and alive today. Because of Him, I can look forward to tomorrow, too.
This year, there is every reason for Christmas to be dull and boring- after all, I just ended my exams but a few days ago, and hardly have had any chance to soak up the festive spirit; I don’t believe in Santa anymore; and I’ve hardly heard any Christmas songs because my radio’s gone wonky.
But Christmas is Special, most Special this year. Because Grandpa Zhou invited me to his church where they give out free food for lunch with him, because I’d the chance to volunteer for a good cause, because ha, I got a new roadbike as a present, and because, for once… I understand what it means. Christmas is not merely about festivity, Santa or carols.
I finally understand now- the True meaning of Christmas.
Forgiveness, renewal and new life-for me and for others, because of You.
All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet:
"The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son,
and they will call him Immanuel"
—which means, "God with us."
- Matthew 1:22-23
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