Category: Prose

Christmas · Narrative · Non-Fiction · Prose · Writing True

Christmas Around the World: A Tapestry of Joy and Tradition

AinaBalagtas2 Comments
Courtesy of Pexels

Christmas, like a timeless melody, has been sung through the centuries, weaving its harmonies into the hearts of people across the globe. It is more than a celebration—it is a story of light, resilience, and unity. Born in the humble glow of a manger in Bethlehem, this holiday transcended borders and cultures, carrying with it the promise of peace and goodwill to all.

Christmas’ origin can be trace back to the early Christians who honored the birth of Jesus Christ as the beacon of their faith. Over time, the celebration absorbed local customs like threads in a rich tapestry, blending the sacred with the cultural. In medieval Europe, it thrived despite winter’s icy grip, bringing warmth through communal feasts and carols sung in flickering candlelight. Today, that spirit endures, stretching across continents, languages, and traditions, creating a kaleidoscope of customs as unique as the stars scattered across the winter sky.

Christmas in Europe

In Germany, where the Christmas tree was born, homes glow with twinkling lights and the scent of evergreen. Advent calendars mark the days leading to Christmas, each door revealing a small gift or sweet treat—a ritual echoing the anticipation of the Nativity. In England, the yuletide crackle of a Christmas pudding aflame recalls both warmth and celebration, while carolers fill the air with hymns as timeless as the season itself.

In Italy, La Befana, a kind witch, delivers gifts on Epiphany, symbolizing the Magi’s journey to the Christ child. Midnight Mass draws families to ancient churches, their spires lit against the night sky, as bells toll the miracle of Christ’s birth.

Christmas in the Americas

Across the Atlantic, the Americas paint Christmas with vibrant hues. In Mexico, Las Posadas reenacts Mary and Joseph’s search for shelter, culminating in joyous feasts and piñatas bursting with candy. In the United States, Christmas is a dazzling spectacle of lights, parades, and the sound of sleigh bells—an ever-evolving blend of traditions reflecting its melting pot of cultures.

In Canada, the frosty air hums with the laughter of ice skaters, while in Brazil, the summer sun shines over Ceia de Natal, a feast rich in tropical flavors. Christmas in the Americas is a symphony of contrasts, yet its melody is always one of togetherness and joy.

A rich and diverse Christmas in Asia and Africa

In the Philippines, the Simbang Gabi dawn masses usher in the season, with lanterns lighting the way, symbolizing the Star of Bethlehem. In Japan, Christmas takes a more commercial form, with sparkling displays and a quirky tradition of feasting on Kentucky Fried Chicken—a testament to cultural adaptation.

In Africa, Christmas often blends Christian rites with traditional rhythms. In Ghana, drumming and dancing fill the air, while in South Africa, families gather for summer picnics under blue skies, a celebration of both faith and the earth’s bounty.

The Eternal Flame of the Yuletide Season

What unites these diverse and enduring traditions is not the way they are celebrated, but the spirit they embody. Christmas endures because it resonates with something universal—the desire for light in the darkness, for connection amid isolation, for giving as an act of love, of kindness, and thoughtfulness.

Like a tree rooted deep yet adorned with unique ornaments, Christmas draws strength from its history while flourishing in its infinite forms. It reminds us that while the customs may differ, the heart of the holiday—a celebration of hope, love, and unity—remains the same.

As we marvel at how Christmas touches every corner of the world, may we cherish its enduring magic. It is a season that belongs to everyone, a testament to humanity’s capacity to create beauty, share joy, and uphold traditions that span not only from generation to generation but the entire globe.

To conclude, I have the highest regard and reverence to all religions. However, modesty and bias aside, Christmas is a timeless celebration amongst us, Catholic and Christians alike. An enduring centuries-old tradition that brings people together, unites families, tightens bonds among friends and kin, thereby creating heartwarming memories. Most importantly, Christmas is an abiding proof that if people choose—and only if they choose hope and love—peace becomes attainable: Indeed, achieving the very elusive peace is conquerable—but only if we have the will. We must not give up pursuing it.

A very merry Christmas to y’all!

YouTube/Lea Michele/It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Essay · Narrative · Non-Fiction · Prose · Writing True

Who Doesn’t Need Time?

AinaBalagtas2 Comments

Do you need time?

Time is the quiet tyrant, invisible and insatiable, a master whose hands turn every moment into memory, every breath into a thread unraveling. It strides unseen, yet rules with iron grace, painting our lives in invisible brushstrokes, etching our joys and sorrows with a patient, relentless hand.

Time wears a thousand faces. It is the dawn that whispers promises of tomorrow, the dusk that steals light from the sky. It is the clock’s gentle ticking, each second a silver needle stitching us closer to both the unknown and the inevitable. Like a river winding through valleys of hope and mountains of regret, time flows forward, never pausing to admire the landscapes it shapes, never swayed by pleas for mercy or haste.

It is both blessing and thief, granting youth in one hand, taking innocence in the other. Lovers swear by it—forever, they say, as if time itself could be charmed, as if they could cage its wild heart. But time laughs, knowing that all vows are but echoes that fade, promises like petals falling in a summer storm. It keeps its own counsel, loyal only to the unyielding march toward tomorrow.

And yet, in all its ironies, time is the tender artist, sculpting the wrinkles of wisdom on an elder’s face, leaving memories like fragrant blossoms in the minds of those who linger. It is a paradox of permanence and impermanence, giving meaning to the fleeting, turning moments into mosaics, seconds into stories. For time is not cruel—it simply does not care.

“Tick, tock,” it hums, its voice a lullaby and a warning, as it spins the universe upon an unseen axis, binding the world together with a pulse that neither slows nor stills. It is the heartbeat of history, the measure of all things mortal, the silent sovereign whose rule cannot be broken, whose essence is mystery itself.

Love · Musing · Non-Fiction · Prose · Writing True

Drifters We Are; Drifters We’d Be

AinaBalagtas4 Comments
As inevitable as sunset, is our bittersweet destiny.

At the crossroads, they met like rivers converging under an indigo sky, both drifters, wanderers who found in each other the quiet music of belonging. Their laughter spilled like honey in the cool night air; their dreams danced together in whispered promises, as if love was a warm fire to sit beside after the long, lonely road.

But love, as pure as it was, could not bend the lines of fate or turn the sands of time. It was as though they’d found a moment too brief to nestle their roots, too fragile to weather the turn of seasons. For as they stood at that crossroad, each facing their own horizon, they knew: love itself was never wrong, only time was fleeting, and sometimes hearts bloom in different soil.

“We are stars whose paths crossed,” they murmured softly, “celestial in our meeting, but destined to drift.” And as they parted, the ache in their chests was a tender reminder that some love exists only to be remembered—a quiet echo, a soft ache, a memory of warmth. Love endures, even in separation, forever unbroken by distance or time.

For in the language of the heart, no love is wasted, no touch in vain. And when they look back, it will be with knowing smiles, with whispered truths shared only with the stars.

YouTube/Audrey Hepburn/Moon River
Creative · Poetry · Prose · Sentiments

I So Do, Spring

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Painted December 11, 2022

I so think of you, Spring:

When winds are gentle as feathers

And the sun is mostly present.

I so think of you, Spring:

When woods are warming

And leaves are cool in green.

I so think of you, Spring:

When wilderness are humming,

And thick coats and heavy jackets are retiring.

Just so you know,

The blanket is not warm enough

To stop my longing for you, Spring.

If winter is a song,

Guaranteed, I’d fast forward it

Right after the very last firework.

Prayer · Prose · Writing True

At the Break of Dawn

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A throbbing heart is at the very heart of gratitude.

The roosters belt out at the top of their syringes,
they’re just so into the morning sun;
but not the Grammy.
Hope gets it straight, little one.

The iPad prompts at five-forty-five:
Snooze or stop?
Meeting is about to start;
Right hand struggles searching to tap.

The meeting: Not on Webex, nor on Zoom.
No webcam needed, nor mic for sure.
Brain maybe half awake;
but the heart is throbbing true.

The Big One speaks
of Psalms Thirty: Verse Five.
Though happy tears make it to cheeks,
joy seeps in. . .

Seeps in, seeps in, seeps in. . .

And gratitude is all around.

Nobody is ever muted to say:
Thank You!
Thank You!
Thank You!

Thank You, Amazing You!

Prose · Writing True

A Man’s Character

AinaBalagtas11 Comments

 
 

The echoes of his words,
The photographs of his deeds,
The vividness of his causes,
The depth and breadth of his love and friendship,
The flames of his passion,

 
His silence in grief,
His humility in defeat,
His restraint in the midst of temperament,
His beliefs in his abilities and creed,
His trust in providence and grace of The Omnipotent—

 
A man’s character
Could be his fate,
A self imposed verdict;
Or the crowning glory
Of his determination and will.

 
Either way,
It is his truth.
A man’s character
Is the indelible imprints
Of his soul.

 
 

YouTube/My Way/Frank Sinatra/Giulia