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I passed by Brown Thomas everyday on my way to work. I have my Christmas playlist on and I never fail to adore its window display of fairy tale. A bunch of mannequin are perfectly carved into the festive season; with their bright sequin attire potraying both glamor and luxury. The Christmas lights are cocooning its wall, embracing the whole display with its warm yellow lights. It gave me chills -as if something truly magical will sweep my feet away.
Just a meter outside the display, a body was thrown out in the corner, with knees up to his chest and a pile of boxes on the pavement to keep himself less cold. His lips were dry and his feet were covered with torn socks. I couldn’t take my eyes off him yet it is my heart that really sees. I wasn’t able to courage up any words but more than anyhing, I was propelled to be ashamed of being kind, caring. Should I care, I will be a total show-off, a weirdo and probably, an outcast.
As I busy caring about how the world is going to judge me, I quietly stepped away. And somehow, I felt I blend naturally with the world once again. Invincible. I like it -being invincible. But as I moved further along, my heart ache, more and more. And the magic dust has woken me up from my fairy-tale to the brutal reality.
The devastating shooting in California woke us up like the news that was being hurried over in the old radio. You think you heard it but did you hear it right? You thought it will be better, that it can ONLY be better after the darkness that has engulfed the once lively city of Paris. I couldn’t help but to think that it could be anytime, anywhere, anyone. That whenever I was struggling with my make-ups, with the cold walks in the morning, with my unattended Christmas gifts’ list and stressful meal plans -I manually reminded myself to be utterly grateful.
Grateful to be alive. Grateful not to be running and struggling for safety. Grateful for not witnessing small children liveless on their parents’ lap. For not floating my life on a boat, with five thousands others, just to lose it. And for never seeing a girl carrying a rifle so that she could go to school. I am immersely grateful for what I have. But more so, for what I don’t have.
But how about them? Do I just say my prayer in my cosy room and hoping that they will rot as a part of the history -necessary for civilisation? Does being thankful makes me less of a sinner? Does it relieves their hunger? Or it is just my own way of blinding my guilt as I am consciously, very much in love with the WORLD; the world that they have created on the high retina display.
Undoubtedly, this Christmas will be singing a rather quiet carol. Let’s fill this season with a heart of giving, without being ashamed or discouraged. But rather with love, care and kindness -be it for strangers or the people you love. Isn’t that what is Christmas all about anyway?
p/s: Don’t wait for magic to happen. Be the magic!
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