X-Mas, Birthdays and Presents

I was on the bus today, coming back from a dinner of overindulgence with a friend and she asked me what I wanted for X-Mas... she told me she was thinking about giving me a pair of earrings, which I would love but as she kept on pressing me for an answer to her question, I realised I couldn't answer. At some point in my past, I made a semi-conscious decision to not wish for any particular present for fear of being disappointed and that fear haunts me today.

I think I was... 18 or 19 years old when it happened. I was in the midst of my obsession with Star Trek: The Next Generation. I watched the show religiously, at 7pm on Saturdays and 11pm on Sundays, I bought the magazines, the comic books and the novels. That year, a novel called Imzadi came out in hardcover and detailed the beautiful love story between William Riker and Deanna Troi. Every week, I stopped by a bookstore where a friend of my sister worked. She knew how much I wanted the book but the $20+ price tag kept me at bay. As did the hope that my mother, father or sister would maybe get it for me for X-Mas.

X-Mas came around and my sister gave a book by Honoré de Balzac... which I have yet to read in the past 13 years. She didn't know what to get me so... she went to my mother who suggested de Balzac, not because she knew I'd love it... never that since she and I had many conversations about how I hated long-winded, pompous, full of themselves French authors, hoisted on pedestals by boring French teachers. My mother suggested de Balzac because she had once loved him and his writing and in hindsight, I realise it was an attempt by my mother to make me more into her own image. As noble as her intention was, it left me with a bitter taste in my mouth. Specially since I only managed to get my hands on Imzadi in paperback form at a used bookstore many years later.

That was the year when I stopped dropping hints about what I wanted. I stopped wishing for the right present because no matter what, no one in my family tried to get me a present I would truly enjoy. It's sad because when it comes to present buying, I don't just pick something up in a store. I think long and hard about the person who'll receive the present and do my very best to come with the right present for that person, the present that'll make them smile and their hearts quiver a bit. Few people today seem to try to do that for me. A extremely close friend of mine does it... has done it for the past two years and I think the joy I get from opening her presents, she shares in, just as I share the joy when she opens her presents, squeals in delight and joy and her eyes light up.

Last week, at an office X-Mas party, I gave a co-worked a CD/DVD combo of one of his favorite bands. He loved it. He told me all of his friends were jealous of it. That made my day. For me, just giving a present is empty. If I buy a friend something generic, I have to find a way of injecting that present with something they'll find a personal attachement to. It reminds me of a present I got at the same office party. I'd asked for some writing materials or cell phone accessories. As employees of a cell phone company, I was expecting the accessories. Instead, I got a beautiful notebook with a leather cover and wonderful writing pens. My joy was immense. As a writer, I take pride in my writing tools and rarely trust anyone to buy them but this co-worker whom I barely know hit the mark perfectly.

And that realisation made me a little sad. I always expect my family to know me better than anyone else. When it comes to buy presents for them, I think myself into a ridiculous frenzy, trying to find the right present. I already have ideas for all of them and I'm pretty sure I'll hit the mark perfectly, giving them presents they hadn't thought but will love to pieces. I'm pretty sure I'll get something boring, generic and that's why I don't even want to think about what I want for a present because I won't get it.

Why the negative attitude you'll ask. Experience speaks volumes.... X-Mas can't be avoided but my birthday... now that's something I can control and avoid. For the past four years, I've made sure I was gone from work on my birthday. I hate all the good wishes and the kisses from near strangers that you have to endure. I don't mind turning a year older. I made whatever age I'm at look damn good. But by the same token, doesn't mean I look forward to birthdays. Unfortunately, I'm mostly surrounded by people who are lax about those days. There's very little effort by the new generation to remember and celebrate birthdays.

There are cousins of mine who get a phone call from me once a year to wish them a happy birthday and to invite them out to dinner. They're never at home, always too busy for me so I leave a message that's never acknowledge and never returned. I'd blame their extremely busy work schedule if I didn't know they had time for friends and other family members. But I must remember that they love me. Yeah right!

There's a friend of mine who never remembers my birthday on the actual day. She'll remember it the day after, won't pick up a phone to acknowledge it but she'll send me a hateful Hallmark e-card the day after. A few clicks on a PC don't mean happy birthday to me, ya know. But Lord knows we're already booked for hew birthday. Reciprocity would have me faking a migraine and staying my ass home to send her an e-card but the good manners my mother drilled into me and the fact that I love this friend, faults and all, means I'll be going out with her on her birthday. I'm not that vengeful.

But sometimes, you want to be. So my birthday was... a week and a few dust bunnies ago... I scored two presents, none from my presents except for a restaurant lunch. You'll say come on now, at 32, who needs presents anymore? I do! They can be an expression of love and caring. A card without a present is like a hot dog without the sausage. Without the meat, it's just bread. It's weird how dumb founded I find myself with the whole lack of parental present thing. Since I could, I never went without giving them a present, a little something to say 'Happy Birthday'. And for those who'll say the lunch was my present, I say bull to that. A present is tactile, damn it! I want my present damn it all to hell!

I tried to make it up to myself by splurging on a game console and games. But the emptiness remains... and the existing hole got a little deeper that day. When I recount my birthday, I find myself acting like an exemplary daughter and yet incredibly empty. To save them a trip to my place, I met them at a subway station near their house, we went to lunch, then we spent three hours in an emergency room. My mother's eye was infected after a laser eye surgery for glaucoma she underwent the previous week. And then, after that dry-ass birthday, I got another drop off at the subway station to save my father from traffic.

When I got home that night, I held back the tears while I answered brithday wishes from family and friends. But my pain remains fresh. And if a friend hadn't snapped some good sense into me, I would have swallowed my frustration as pettiness and selfishness. Maybe they're planning a bigger present for X-Mas but past experience leads me to believe that I should be satisfied with what I got. which was a forgettable dinner at Bâton Rouge. The restaurant was in a mall and when I saw no present in the car, I thought maybe I would get to pick out something I liked at that mall but nope, afterward, it was a rush to the hospital. No cake either.

So let's call a spade a spade. Based on this past birthday, X-Mas will suck!

So I end this hoping my X-Mas presents will bring the people who receive them the joy I won't get for my presents, or lack thereof.

Note: I apologize for the depressing blog but I've never enjoyed X-Mas and this year, I think it'll be harder to put up a brave front.

Secrets from the Workplace

Back in my university days, I used to have a blog... not that original, most would think but that was over 10 years ago, before blogs became what they are today. Then again, those ramblings about my ordinary life were restricted to paper and never published for all the world to say. But today, I'm putting it all out there.

Yesterday, I was reading a Dear Abby letter where a Chicago employer was warning against blogs for young people seeking employment. The core of what she had to say was basically that young people looking for jobs shouldn't post their blogs on the Internet because potential employers might do a quick name search and find their blogs and choose not to employ them based on what one might say about one's personal life. That letter got me thinking...

I'm a poet and a writer. And the thought that my employers are scouring the Net looking for anything negative about me as a reason to fire is absolutely repulsive. Where is the line between my personal and professional life drawn? Would this picky employer ask me about this blog in an interview? Would a whimsical blog about life be taken seriously? A lot of questions...

Over the weekend, I attended a get-together with my colleagues from work. It was a house party... everyone pitched in 5$, brought their own alcohol and drinks, there was a co-worker spinning records and a gift exchange. One of our bosses was in attendance, the guy hosting had his girlfriend there and there wasn't any company sponsorship of said party. Naturally, as people are wont to do, some lit cigarettes, some drank alcohol and doobies were also lit. I personally couldn't care less. This was a house party, not sponsored by employers and as such, I expected people to behave as they normally would at a party, without caring that big brother was watching them.

And frankly, why should they? Have we become so puritanical that we cannot believe that at a party, people would lover their inhibitions and go a little crazy? And funny enough, those who looked down their noses as the people who lit up a couple of funny cigarettes were the same who chain-smoked regular cigarettes with amazing alacrity. And the smell that still lingers on my coat isn't that of marijuana, but of tobacco. But let's not draw their attention to that... no sir, no ma'am... we're smoking drugs... big bad evil drugs.

In a party atmosphere, everyone lets go of their inhibitions, it's normal, it's expected and hell, it's supposed to happen. And I'm not going to point a finger at those people who don't take themselves seriously enough to not care who's staring at them while they're rolling weed into a neat and tidy ZigZag. Thanks to Canadian law, that's not a crime. But I will look down on people who use such occasions not to enjoy themselves by not taking themselves seriously but instead use them to garner information they'll scatter every which way under the guise of harmless gossip.

One of the perpetrators of this crime is a forty-ish woman who's been with the company for years and has taken it upon herself to be the group's moral yardstick. But let's be honest and call a spade a spade. This woman isn't a barometer of morality by any means. She lords her years of service over anyone who comes near her and uses her vast knowledge of her colleagues to spread rumors about them. She's not a bad person per se but in her mind, she's the perfect person, as such, that gives her license to lash at anyone with her acidic comments.

Am I a tad bitter? Yes... when I got on the other side of her gossipy mouth. As one point during the evening, my low-waisted jeans gave everyone a peek at my G-string and my butt crack. Naturally, never one to pass up on a juicy morsel, her cohorts never bothered to advise me of that fact. Why should they when it would give fodder for their gab sessions?

I take my job seriously and when I'm work, I focus on that and that only. And when I'm sent out to represent my company, I do so to the best of my abilities. But I draw the line when every second of my behavior is scrutinized for an infraction that could affect my career path. That will not happen. I will not let it happen. As long as my work doesn't suffer from it, nothing I do outside the work place and out from under the company umbrella, should affect or impact my work performance, as long as it's legal. I can swing naked from a chandelier, participate in orgies and use marijuana. As long as none of it affect my job, no prissy co-worker should use that against me.

But these are Real Flights of Fancy. There's always someone watching. It's not necessarily right but that's the way the world is. Should we revolt or quietly accept the invasion of our private lives? It's worth or thought or two.

Welcome

Wow... my very own blog... I'm going to love this. Expect book and movie reviews, my thoughts on the world and fun... hopefully loads of fun.