Walking home today carrying a 3kg parcel in humid Auckland after a 3.5 hour study day (paid as 8 hours), is sweet torture. I have been waiting for this parcel since Wednesday last week and it's obviously delayed (dunno who to blame). I am really, really looking forward to getting it today so I claimed it from Building 21 and off I trotted home. A huge smile is plastered across my face.
Somehow, I've come to think: So, this is it?
I eagerly tore the plastic open. Seeing the presents inside, I immediately looked for one single thing: A Christmas card. That's it. After all the anticipation, that's all I ever want to get: a heart warming message scribbled on a card that is signed with 'Love, Mama' at the bottom. And then all the rest were just a haze to me as I read her letter and started crying.
So, this is what my life will be like?
Agonizingly anticipating to receive something, opening packages alone, comforting myself as I cry some more on the thought of how cold and incomplete Christmas is. I lined up all the contents of the 3 kilogram parcel on the sofa and I stare in awe and gratitude at how my family continuous to remind me that despite the distance and financial constraints, they do remember me, not only on seasons like this but whole year round.
So, I realize that living overseas means exactly this. That letters matter more than clothes or bags, that photos sent enclosed in cards are a delightful surprise and that the one wish I could make but wouldn't be granted is just being home on Christmas.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment