It's not Christmas, not the gifts under the tree. It's the completion of my family, a fragmented one. It has become my habit to count the days before their arrival. Enthused and unfocused with every decrease in the countdown.
School never mattered. Nothing really mattered.
All I wanted was a time machine. To fast forward to the moment where break starts.
When the most await break arrived, they landed. Everybody flocked at one place. The house was filled with domestic bliss. Day after day, we tour at places as if we're foreigners in our own country. Laughter here and there. It never ended!
But as days pass by, gloominess creeps in. I can't help but get bothered. Our smiles are slowly fading. Worried, sick that it won't be too long before they leave again; that this will come to an end; that it's time to depart again.
Now, it's January, again. The time of the year where i prepare myself for an emotional breakdown. I'd be lucky to hear them singing my birthday song. Just imagine how ironic and sad it is. Sacrificing for 11 months, saving up for a month. It depends on the company actually. The certainty of coming home could even be clouded with doubts.
Nobody's intelligent enough to know how precious are moments with them. I guess that's how it is when you're deprived of getting to be with your family. With your mother. It's the pleasure and pain of it. The tears you shed without your mother. It's the epitome of it. The togetherness.
