As I write this, it’s early October, but it
feels as if the year has already come to an end. I’m almost positive that the
Christmas decorations are about to go up along Orchard Road where each night,
their maddeningly cheerful lights and fake Santas will remind me that I am
about to spend a whole lot of money on useless presents for a whole lot of
people that either I don’t really like, or don’t see enough of during the year
to actually bother making the effort of liking.
It
would be so nice to not bother with the whole nonsense, seeing as I’m not even
Christian. But that said, my kindergarten teacher was a dyed in the wool
Methodist from South Carolina. I went to a Catholic primary school and dutifully
read the Bible, but frankly, I just never saw the point of the Holy Trinity.
It hardly helped
that my mother’s best friend was a Cambodian princess who became a nun at the
Church of the Holy Infant Jesus back in the day before the whole place became
CHIJMES and she smoked like a chimney
and could turn the air blue with her foul language delivered in flawless
French, Cambodian and Hokkien.
As
my sister always pointed out, with a role model like that, it’s no wonder none
of us paid any attention to Monsignor Duchamp whenever he came to dinner.
Meanwhile, my
dad is Buddhist, and my mother, depending on the level of guilt she’s feeling
on the day, fluctuates between the Roman Catholics and the Baptists.
Personally, I’m
still all at sea when it comes to matters of the soul. I’d like to think that
there’s someone out there looking out for us all, but the practical part of me
wonders how even a supreme being can pay attention to every single person on
the planet. I can’t even text and drive at the same time.
And yet, despite
all my misgivings and questions, there I will be on Christmas Eve, at some
friend’s house, happily singing ‘Away in the Manger’ like there’s no tomorrow.
Then on Boxing
Day, as I sit at home mentally doing my sums and getting a little frightened
about my next Visa bill, I swear to myself that I won’t do it again. That Christmas
is just a horrible commercial gimmick. That, next year, I’m not going to give
any presents. That, if I really want to find the answers to the questions of
life, they won’t be found in a Tiffany’s catalogue or a Ralph Lauren gift wrap.
I
say this every year, of course, but I always end up spending an awful amount of
time slavishly shopping and ticking off people on my list.
This
year though will be different, I think. My father’s recent health scare seems
to have finally given me the perspective I’ve been looking for. For the first
time, I realized that life isn’t really about the job. Or that pay-rise. Or the
new car. Or the new model phone. Yes, it would be nice to have all of that, but
when the chips are down, none of it really matters if you’re sick and alone.
Saffy
says that may be true, but it would really help if you were sick, alone and rich. “Can you imagine dying all
alone in a hospital corridor because you can’t afford a room?” she asked the
other day.
“Of
course, you need good friends and family, as well,” I added.
“Listen,
if you’re rich, you’ll always have
friends and family around!” Saffy said. “Rich people never die alone.”
Amanda
says that’s so incredibly cynical, but Saffy is sticking to her guns on this
point.
“It’s
bad enough that we don’t know what’s on the other
side of death,” she said recently at the funeral of the brother of our friend,
Chris. “Imagine how much more horrible it must be if the last thing you see is
not a friendly face, but an empty room?”
“So
the point would be?” Amanda prompted.
Saffy
drew a big breath. “The point would be that we need to cultivate a loyal group
of friends and family. And to do that, we have to buy their loyalty. Which is
why, this Christmas, I’m giving you both presents from Gucci and Cartier! And if
you want me to visit you in the hospital, you’d better be giving me something
from Prada!”
Amanda
later said that Saffy is like the coming of the Anti-Christ. “But with a much
stronger business acumen!” she added. I detected a grudging note of admiration
in her voice.
1 comment:
not exactly the point of the entry, but i thought i should comment that the logical part of me argues that a supreme being will therefore have supreme powers. God cannot be God if He is restricted by human limitations.
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