...tuesday...

It’s Christmas day, and apart from the several relatives that came to visit, I feel the same. I am dressed as I would on a normal workless day, when the toils of everyday life stop for an infinitesimal second that masquerades as a day. I am in my comfy sleeveless shirt and cotton shorts. If not for the abundant food on our table, albeit the leftovers of yesterday’s Noche Buena feast, and the children that run around the house happy to have new toys from their ninongs and ninangs, I would have declared this day a Tuesday – a happy vacation Tuesday.

From the neighbors come the discordant tunes of weary videokes that had labored through the previous night. It seems that for one day in a year, unpleasant singers are given a license to belt out their hearts content with impunity, as I fall a helpless victim to their incessant crooning. The revelry does not come from a single source. As there are four corners in our house, it seems that there are also as many videoke units from our neighbors. I have yet to decide if these are from different houses, or if one household has difficulty deciding who should sing first that they have each their own videoke units. Should I even care?

As I was brutally awakened this morning by the raucous singing of our selfish neighbors, I was also held in pity for our canine housemates. Yuki and Haru, our two less than magnificent dogs, are continuously barking in pain. It must be very hard for them to take the booms and bangs of firecrackers joyfully lighted and thrown by street kids, what with their highly sensitive sense of hearing. This makes me very thankful that I wasn’t born a dog. I coo them softly, helplessly trying to explain to them that they can’t do anything about it, and neither can I. In my head I am wishing for a very bad thing about the firecrackers and their throwers. You know what I mean, you sheepish little devil you.

From across the street and even further down it, I catch a glimpse of male individuals congregating around a wooden table, haphazardly laid down where the first felt like laying it down. In the middle of that table sits Johnny Walker, black label, and still unopened. It’s now 3pm, and the continued celebration from the previous night is about to start for yet another night. To their right on the ground lay the patron saint of alcoholics, San Miguel. I tried to no avail to avoid them, but there is only one street in our village, and to get to the store I must pass them. So shot after another shot, I went to the store to buy myself Coke, to be used as an after-shot chaser for the trip home.

Like I said, today is a Tuesday, like any other workless Tuesdays in my life. The godforsaken singing, the rowdy and noisy street kids who never fail to find ways to annoy, and of course, the ever flowing alcohol that is measured by the gallons. Today is a Tuesday, and it’s Christmas. What they do today, they do in moderation for the rest of the year.

Merry Christmas everyone!