I confess I didn't feel too well this year when I decided to write my Christmas cards.
Partly, because Christmas didn't feel so festive for me this year. Probably another reason would be the friends I send Christmas cards to, I haven't seen in awhile. Awhile, meaning like five years or more.
So, which is usually the case, I start to analyse myself. Is sending Christmas cards a mere reminder to them of my existence, or an indirect hint to them to send me one back. After all, who really sends christmas cards nowdays because they mean it? You might send it to business acquaintances as a gesture of goodwill, or a gift to cultivate business relations. You might send it to friends and family simply because well, because that's what people do what.
And, yet, I confess that a beam comes to my face when the few respond to the cards I send. Perhaps in their mind, they're thinking 'hmm who's this person. sounds vaguely familiar' or 'omg. another card from Him. doesn't He get the hint already?'.
Honestly, in a few years time, I just might cease sending cards. Or I just might send to a bunch of different friends. Who knows right.
I have a board beside my bed; the kind you can pin stuff on. On it, are addresses. A useful board for when it's time to send cards. Yet, it's so hard to decide who to send to each year. Of three quarters of them, I've not spoken a word to. And, even if I were to, there's usually nothing else to say after 'Hi, how're you? How's sch?'
Am I then, one of those who have lost the ability to communicate? Nah. I'm socially skilled.
And. I can only accept the fact that people weave in and out of your life all the time. Like a cross stitch, sometimes it goes in, sometimes it comes out. Sometimes, it goes in and stays in; it doesn't come out. The various threads, they have to follow the great tapestry or design or masterpiece the owner is weaving.
The times where the thread simply refuses to go through the eye of the needle; they may not be accidental. Or the areas where the threads don't meet. Perhaps it's for a reason.
So, I confess my helplessness when I look upon these addresses in sorrow. Reflecting upon nostalgia, and revelling in memories of yesteryear.
Just a simple trip down memory lane.
Where water under the bridge shoots up like a geyser.
And sleeping dogs bark and chase their own tails.
And skeletons clubbing within closets.
Simple is such an understatement.
