YOUNG VOICE
Dear Santa
(Editor’s Note: It’s never too late for a Christmas story)
IT was a bummer knowing Santa Claus wasn’t real. I would have wanted to know if Rudolph really had a shiny nose. My world felt apart when Santa Claus transformed into Michael Jackson’s clone, posing for a department store’s photo-up promo to keep moms of believers purchasing items Php300 and up. World geography made the cruel truth sound horrific. If Santa lived in the North Pole, he could have died due to hypothermia or could have been the polar bear’s dinner. But it’s too late to get the juice out of sour grapes. It’s disturbing seeing a 19-year-old having a tantrum because she couldn’t get over the fact that Santa Claus is the universe’s greatest hoax.
To be honest, I missed believing in him. More so did I miss writing a long list of gifts I wanted to receive for Christmas while wondering how Rudolph and the rest of his gang could hustle to carry all of the good kids’ presents. So, permit me to convert my column into a list of things I wanted to have before December ends. Just maybe, Santa would become real just this one Christmas to help me out.
Santa Claus
His House
North Pole
Dear Santa,
I am 99.99 percent sure you are not real. But, I still hold firm to the hope of the 0.01 percent. I hope your elves won’t mind squeezing in a few more hours of labor. I have been a good girl (I think).
GOOD DREAMS. I have been having a lot of bad dreams recently. We all deserve some good dreams once in awhile. Sometimes dreaming is the only sanctuary we have to temporarily forget the taunting pressures and anxiety of the real world. I wanted to dream about Prague, drinking coffee in one of its downtown coffee shops. I wanted to dream about becoming a princess being rescued from a tower by my prince charming who should look exactly like Lee Min Ho.
A SMALLER APPETITE. 127 pounds. Damn, I really gained weight from 98 pounds in high school. I asked for a non-human intervention since it would be next to impossible to have a smaller appetite this eat-all-you-can season. Oh why, oh why do we practice Noche Buena?
FOUR TERM NORMAL SPONTANEOUS VAGINAL DELIVERIES. Yes I need four more to graduate. Wouldn’t it be nice to bring cute babies to this world this Christmas? Moms can have all the freedom to abusively adopt the names Christopher, Christina, Christian or Christine.
A GOOD NMAT PERCENTILE STORE. Please, even though I felt dumb while taking the exam. Who knows? I might be the one to discover the cure for autoimmune diseases, since I also have one.
A LESS BITTEN AND CHAPPED SET OF FINGERNAILS. I nail-bite when I’m anxious. I do not wish for lesser anxiety. I wish for better coping to deal with anxiety. Sometimes I just want to learn how to become hard and unresponsive so I would not even take a glance at problems. But my personality slaps me hot on the face. I must react. I don’t want to deal problems using avoidance and backbites.
A SLICE OF BLUEBERRY CHEESECAKE. Since I wanted to lose weight, a teeny weeny slice won’t hurt right?
A GREATER LOVE FOR JESUS. He’s the reason for the season and many seem to forget that. A peaceful baby, tucked in a humble manger, who should have deserved more than gold, frankincense and myrrh. We were too unfair to Him; lashed and crucified him after having healed our sick and cured our ill. It’s the least we could do, to remember Him on his birthday. To remember Him more, even just this Christmas.
That is all Santa. I hope seven gifts aren’t too much to ask. If you can’t give them all at once, there’s still next Christmas right? Well, except for numbers 3, 4 and 7. I desperately need them as of the moment.
Merry Christmas!
Love,
Reylan
P.S. My warmest hellos to Mrs. Claus.
