I still remember when I was a child, around 3 to 8 years old, it was always on my bucket list to give my classmates or friend group something that would remind them it's Christmas. Not only at Christmas, but also on important or small occasions like Valentine's Day or their birthdays. I couldn't rest if I didn't complete my supplies, because most of what I gave them were my handmade crafts. Every night before the celebration day, I would stay up until dawn, still at my desk finishing my little gifts for them.
The Joy of Giving
"Just stop it! ...haaah (yawns). No one told you to do that, right?" I often asked myself as my eyes grew heavy with sleep. It wasn't that I was forced to do it, because if I stopped, they might think I had changed. But since it had become a habit, it felt light in my heart. In fact, I experienced the occasion more fully when I had something to give them and they had something to give back to me.
A Valentine's Day Memory
"Class, tomorrow morning I won't attend your first subject, but I will leave a seat work. Pass it to Mel, and she will submit it to my office at one in the afternoon," said Ma'am Reyn to her students.
"Okay, Ma'am," replied Mel and the class.
"Yes! I'll answer quickly so I can still make my gifts," I whispered to myself with a smile as I looked at my crayons, paper, and pencils.
It was Valentine's Day, and I thought I should give them something special because it was our last year together in elementary school. We were in sixth grade, and soon we would graduate. Some would go to other schools.
So I prepared little gifts to give them during our program.
"Mel, this is for you. Happy Valentine's Day," I said to my close friend.
"Thank you, Yan..." Mel replied as she received my gift.
"You're really different. You never miss an occasion with your thoughtfulness," she added, hugging me.
The Bitter Disappointment
I felt a mix of joy and anxiety as I handed out my little greetings one by one. My heart swelled seeing their smiles with each gift. But when I entered the classroom, I saw my gifts scattered like fallen leaves from the Mahogany tree beside our room, blown by the electric fan as if my little greetings were worthless. It was sad. Infuriating. A lesson learned.
"This is the last time, Yan," I told myself as tears fell while I picked up the pages with messages for the recipients. Christmas passed, and we graduated from elementary school. I challenged myself never to do it again. But somehow, the wound in my heart slowly healed, like moss covering a stone.
Six Years Later
Now I am in 12th grade. It's Christmas again.
"Who is that for, Ate? You're so busy?" asked Inday, my younger sister, as it neared 10 PM and I was again at my desk staying up late.
"Oh, stop asking. You already know, so go to sleep or you'll get scolded by Mom," I replied to Inday, sounding annoyed.
"What is Mel wrapping now? Kloe said she has something to give me as a Christmas gift," I wondered as I finished wrapping my gifts for my close friends.
I was excited to go to school early so I could give them what I had prepared.
(To be continued)
