right at this very moment, my mother's at the airport, picking up my sister, Gracie who's back from Mangalore for her christmas break. that means, the commencement of the christmas celebrations back home.
Michael Buble's "Home" just started playing, from the random shuffle on my iTunes.
and i'm bawling like a spoilt kid, like the spoilt kid i am.
I told myself rather than to feebly attempt to recreate Christmas for myself here, as i've tried and failed to recreate other events like my birthday and all, i'm not going to celebrate Christmas this year. It'd be just a holiday season which i'm going to enjoy, but not Christmas per se. i figured i am not going to settle for the best, of a tradition that's been alive in my family since ages ago. A Eurasian Catholic family is rich in traditions they concocted up and gathered through the years. Like my Mi's pineapple tarts that melt in your mouth, her pork roast that's just divine, enuff to abolish ANY diet and break any anorexia, my Mummy's moist chocolate cake and butter cookies, roast chicken, the presents, the grand feeling that accompanies the toiling bells that herald in the birth of Jesus... Parties that are followed by subsequent and more spontaneous parties. my Family. i think a feeble attempt would make me even sadder!
it's only the 17th. and this is already the 2nd time im crying...