Deepavali

Deepavali and Hari Raya. Celebrations by the Hindu and Moslems. Holidays. Festive season.

Everywhere around me is a celebration fashioned by traditions and customs. People walk together with the family, trod in colorful attires, with happy faces and bright smiles. Songs of days gone by remind us of how the festive mood is being celebrated. Dances with hands artistically gesturing figures matched withmelodious tunes and rhythmic routines flood the tubes and air waves. That isa common sight and sound during this season.

I attended my first Deepavali celebration at Fatima and Raj's humble abode. Raj being a Hindu explained why a Filipina, blessed with an angel named Angelyn,celebrated the day. There were a mixture of Filipino and Indian servings. Adobo, a favorite of Raj, was on the center of the table. Around it was the various crispy munchies which I have eaten for the first time.

Since most of the guests were Filipinos, songs and endless empty laughters could be expected. And there were lots that night. Beers and wine were part of it, naturally. Amidst the noise and confusions was the picture taking. I did that myself. That was the only contribution I could muster. Of course, armed with my precious Sony Cybershot and the confidence that goes with it, I took photos of my first ever Deepavali. Usually, as it turned out, the picture taking sessions become the most awaited moment in every celebration. Why? Because it captures the essence of the moment and that moment will be gone as it happens. Only the pictures can bring back the nostalgia of the moment. It reverberates the echoes of laughters, of sounds, of silence.

Then there was me. It only took me quite a few minutes to take photos. I was not my best element to do the shots but I believe I managed to get the best of the celebration. Wondering about the emptiness in the midst of joy, trying to feel the moments as they come by, making sense of them all...there was me. I found myself looking at the faces, each one with something hidden behind the stare. As I looked into their eyes, I saw my own emptiness: the longing to feel the embrace of loved ones, of friendly faces, of familiar environments.

Laughters will soften to smiles. Smiles will wither into blank faces. That is becoming a pattern. Observe people in a gathering and you will see that. I have seen it. I have observed it.

Within me, I felt it. No matter how much effort I put forth to press on a laugh...sometimes even to make one becomes difficult.

How much of it can I endure? For how long? Is there a time to give up? My body could not even produce tears I need to shed.. I lost the energy.

When I walked through a well-lit alley, I saw them. A mother with her young son in her laps sleeping under the cold starry darkness. I gave her some money. Dunno why but I just gave it to her. Whether she needsed it or not, whether out of pity or charity, whether out of sympathy or willingness, I just do not know. I walked over to them, talked to her and gave it. She told me something; she needed to give her child a shirt. That was the only amount I have in my pocket. So unfortunate. I realized they were Hindu and it was Deepavali. Of course, a child needs a present. While writing this, I suddenly remember that behind that wall where they were was Maybank. And there was an ATM machine. Too late. Too bad. But I told her, it was all I got.

How could I be so lonely when there were people more unfortunate than I am? Is it ungratefulness? I have been given the best I could have, I have been experiencing the best job I may have in this lifetime, and still I am lonely.

I may say it is not about material excesses or achievements.

It is about my struggle...to be me, to live the life I want, tobe the best I can make out of the best that have been given me.

Look at me. And you will see what it is..how it is.