Christmas Memories

It’s that time of the year again. Christmas is without doubt one of my favorite times in the year. Now I’m not really a very religious person myself, so it’s not so much the religious part that makes it so good. It’s just such a joyous time. And it’s downright infectious. If you watch closely, you just might be able to see smiles and laughter rolling on from one person to another. One of the differences between my birthday and Christmas: I hate belated wishes for my birthday. On that day.. 12:00 a.m. to 11:59 p.m. is all the time you get to wish me... no advance wishes or belated wishes. If you forgot then let it be forgotten for another year. Same goes for if you couldn’t wish (and just so you know, I don’t buy those excuses... not one bit) Christmas on the other hand is one whole season. It’s never too soon to start decking up and wishing people.

I love walking along roads, watching the shops all decorated. The mannequins in shop windows making space for nativity sets, the people selling Santa caps on the roads, watching parents trying to “discreetly” buy gifts for the kids, so that Santa can gift it to them – it matters not if they don’t even know what Christmas is all about. For once, I don’t even mind the crowd. I am pleasantly drawn into memories of Christmas throughout my life. Looking back, the routine each year is so similar, it’s mundane. But I can still remember and feel the excitement within me as the season draws near each year... excitement to do the same mundane things over again.

Preparations at home normally start around ten days before Christmas – the new clothes are already bought a few weeks in advance. It starts with a thorough cleaning of the house... every corner scrubbed clean. (I must admit, not my favorite part). Then starts the preparation of all the sweets and goody stuff. As a kid, the only involvement in this part was trying to keep my eyes open at night while I stayed up to watch my mother cook, bake and fry. I never managed to stay up too long, and would end up having to wait till the morning to get to taste it. As I grew older though, I got to help- help meaning fetching stuff and handing them to my mother, me and my sister not trying to kill each other and ‘staying away from the hot pans and burners’. I now got to get the first taste of the stuff before I fell asleep. A couple of days before Christmas eve meant helping my father decorate the house, set up the Christmas tree, and setting up the crib. Helping again involved fetching stuff, me and my sister trying not to kill each other, and holding up the glue while my father used step stools to stick those decorations on the ceiling. Finally, it would be Christmas Eve and we’d go to church eagerly waiting to get back to the gifts. I remember calling up my father each day at his office to remind him of my Christmas wish list, so that he could mail that ‘all important’ letter to Santa.

Over the years, my sister and I have finally gotten around to being more productive during Christmas and -if I may be silly enough- taking charge at home in getting all the preparations done. I still reserve a wish list for my parents (now that I pretend to believe my parents story that Santa doesn’t exist- I still do believe). My sister and I have somewhere in the process of growing up, lost the enthusiasm to try and kill each other and we now concede with just arguing and verbal fights. But Christmas is and will always remain a favorite time, a time for family, a time for joy, a time to sing those Christmas carols on the top of our voices as we gather around the Christmas tree. One memory that will never fade away is the memory of singing ‘Silent night’ in candle night at church, that’s when it really, finally hits home- IT’S CHRISTMAS!!

The Fountainhead

The fountainhead is one of those classic books that everyone recommends you to read, even if they themselves haven’t. it almost always ends up in the ‘best books to read’ lists that some have. I recently read it (ill admit, a lot of coercion was involved) and I have ended up with very mixed reactions to it.

There are two kinds of books... one in which the story by and far overpowers the characters. Pick up any of those books, replace a few characters and you still would have the same brilliant story folding out before you. The other kind is the one where the characters loom large over the story. The fountainhead is a book of the latter kind. In a nutshell the story is about an architect who only believes in working in his way, or not working at all (and he does end up not doing anything - a lot). What makes it worth a read are the characters,. Now personally, I only liked the characterization of the main character – Howard Roark. Scenes that do not involve Roark seem dull and boring and skim-over-it-ish .

There are five main characters. Roark- who is a self admitting egoist to the core, does only what he wants, will not compromise on any level, but also does not care enough to defend himself or his work (or does he?). Another character is another man who quite frankly seems spineless, a parasite even. He feeds and grows on other people opinions of him, their generosity and their work. He even makes himself believe he’s the best at what he does. The third is a character who sets out to rule over the world in his own way – in the most dangerous way - by means of his thoughts, by directing, projecting and propagating his thoughts onto other people, people who somehow seem sickeningly in eternal gratitude towards him. People whom he has “made” and can choose to break anytime with the firm knowledge that they will still love and respect (?) him. The fourth character is one who wants and achieves success- and for that he is willing to do anything, go against his own wishes, kill his “soul”- anything that can get him success. He tells people what they want to hear, even when he feels strongly against it. The final character (and you may call me crazy) is one of finest written female characters I have ever read. And with no words to put it in all I can say is she’s everything you never expect her to be- whereby lies the genius of the author’s characterization.

The story like is aid is average, mundane when compared to the characters. The writing starts out impressive but then gets pretty predictable. One thing ive never liked is 1 person speaking on and on for pages- and that happens a lot in this book. Also, after a really great build-up, the climax is disappointing. All said and done, it is worth a read, but leave the expectations behind before you start. The book's title is a reference to Rand's statement that "man's ego is the fountainhead of human progress".
One thing I agree with – there’s two ways to go about things – be utterly selfless or be an egoist to the core. A mid way in this context can only be met with failure and regret.

What about now?

You hear a song a thousand times over, but you just need to hear it that "one" time for it to strike really hard within you...
This song has been going on and on in my head for days now...
All the questions I don’t want to answer…


Shadows fill an empty heart
As love is fading,
From all the things that we are
But are not saying.
Can we see beyond the scars
And make it to the dawn?

What about now?
What about today?
What if you're making me all that I was meant to be?
What if our love never went away?
What if it's lost behind words we could never find?
Baby, before it's too late, What about now?

-What about now (Daughtry)