Thursday, December 15, 2005
You see that tree over there?
The season is upon us again, with all it’s attendant exhortations and clichés.
I won’t be talking about those today though, there’ll be others who can beat it to death much better than I can. Instead, I’ll talk about last Sunday, where I experienced a real Christmas tradition for the first time.
Nope, not drinking eggnog. Don’t think I’d mind though.
Not caroling around the neighbourhood. I’d drive away the stray dogs and cats.
Not gathering around the fireplace to warm up in the winter season. There isn’t one to speak of, though there is a weird penchant for freezing cold air-conditioning around here.
And definitely not getting kissed under mistletoe.
I saw a real Christmas tree.
Yeap, in all my 24 years I've only known plastic Christmas trees. Some went the full distance, with dark green thistles and faux-snow painted on. Others were unashamed of their polymeric nature, going the full distance in the other direction and coloured brightly in various shades and hues. These days, the line of decency gets crossed by those which repeatedly churn out some digital rendition of a common carol, with as much musical aplomb as can be achieved with electronic beeps.
It was a Sunday afternoon when my parents decided to stop over at the nursery to pick up gardening supplies. These plant nurseries bring back both bad and fun childhood memories. The bad ones consist of me being bored out of my head surrounded by row after row of plants while my parents didn’t show any sign of wanting to leave anytime soon, while the fun ones are about kicking and squashing those little oranges that drop from the kumquats when they’re in season for Chinese New Year. These days, I have a more refined appreciation for nature and less destructive means of self-entertainment.
Back on topic, the nursery had a few rows of Christmas trees, made up of Noble firs and Nordmann firs. The thistles looked intimidating but were soft to the touch, and running my fingers up and down the length of a branch felt more like stroking the tail of some furry animal. It wasn’t nearly as tall and green as I imagined, but an interesting sight nonetheless. The fresh pine-like scent was a welcome change from the usual urban smells, no doubt brought forth in part by the thistles brushing against my arm as I strolled in between rows of trees.
Walking amongst these trees brought back yet another set of memories. The boring ones were about setting up the white plastic tree we used to have, pinning all the fiddly branches onto the fake trunk, or at least those that would fit. Hanging up the decorations was also another pain, especially since I’d invariably break one of those ridiculously fragile glass ball thingys. Hopefully not while my parents were around. Adding to the hassle was the fact that everything would have to be taken down and stowed away for more of the same next year.
The fun ones need no guessing. Christmas for me was always about presents. The religious significance of it wasn’t totally lost on me, even though I’m a free-thinker. It’s just that the excitement of getting presents and unwrapping them on Christmas day seemed to override everything else. Eventually, as my cousins and I grew older the rest of my extended family eased off on the gifts. By then I’d come to think that Christmas was really a religious occasion, and the gift exchange was more of a material, commercially-driven thing.
Which is why my folks, myself and the rest of my family don’t do anything about Christmas these days. Most of us aren’t Christians, and it just feels odd going through the motions of a festival which doesn’t really mean much to you apart from the public holiday. I’d respect it as a festival for those of the faith, and I’d wish my Christian friends “Merry Christmas” just as I would “Happy Deepavali” to my Hindu friends and “Selamat Hari Raya” to my Muslim friends.
That doesn’t stop most people though. Singaporeans, ever keen to assimiliate (some would say ape) aspects of other cultures, have picked up on the Christmas tree tradition, and thus the ka-ching sound you hear at nurseries around this time. Shopping centres continue to boom and Orchard Road becomes a commuter’s worst nightmare, even for pedestrians. There’s always the Christmas light-up along that whole street of malls, each one gaily decorated (remember when gay meant happy?) in their best effort to win the honour of being the best decorated shopping centre.
To end-off, here’s a quote from Steve White, a great musician who recently passed through our part of the world and gave 2 performances and a workshop.
“I’m not sure if you all celebrate Christmas here in Singapore, but back in America we not only celebrate it, we sell it.”
I can say definitely say we celebrate Christmas over here, just that everyone does it their way.
I won’t be talking about those today though, there’ll be others who can beat it to death much better than I can. Instead, I’ll talk about last Sunday, where I experienced a real Christmas tradition for the first time.
Nope, not drinking eggnog. Don’t think I’d mind though.
Not caroling around the neighbourhood. I’d drive away the stray dogs and cats.
Not gathering around the fireplace to warm up in the winter season. There isn’t one to speak of, though there is a weird penchant for freezing cold air-conditioning around here.
And definitely not getting kissed under mistletoe.
I saw a real Christmas tree.
Yeap, in all my 24 years I've only known plastic Christmas trees. Some went the full distance, with dark green thistles and faux-snow painted on. Others were unashamed of their polymeric nature, going the full distance in the other direction and coloured brightly in various shades and hues. These days, the line of decency gets crossed by those which repeatedly churn out some digital rendition of a common carol, with as much musical aplomb as can be achieved with electronic beeps.
It was a Sunday afternoon when my parents decided to stop over at the nursery to pick up gardening supplies. These plant nurseries bring back both bad and fun childhood memories. The bad ones consist of me being bored out of my head surrounded by row after row of plants while my parents didn’t show any sign of wanting to leave anytime soon, while the fun ones are about kicking and squashing those little oranges that drop from the kumquats when they’re in season for Chinese New Year. These days, I have a more refined appreciation for nature and less destructive means of self-entertainment.
Back on topic, the nursery had a few rows of Christmas trees, made up of Noble firs and Nordmann firs. The thistles looked intimidating but were soft to the touch, and running my fingers up and down the length of a branch felt more like stroking the tail of some furry animal. It wasn’t nearly as tall and green as I imagined, but an interesting sight nonetheless. The fresh pine-like scent was a welcome change from the usual urban smells, no doubt brought forth in part by the thistles brushing against my arm as I strolled in between rows of trees.
Walking amongst these trees brought back yet another set of memories. The boring ones were about setting up the white plastic tree we used to have, pinning all the fiddly branches onto the fake trunk, or at least those that would fit. Hanging up the decorations was also another pain, especially since I’d invariably break one of those ridiculously fragile glass ball thingys. Hopefully not while my parents were around. Adding to the hassle was the fact that everything would have to be taken down and stowed away for more of the same next year.
The fun ones need no guessing. Christmas for me was always about presents. The religious significance of it wasn’t totally lost on me, even though I’m a free-thinker. It’s just that the excitement of getting presents and unwrapping them on Christmas day seemed to override everything else. Eventually, as my cousins and I grew older the rest of my extended family eased off on the gifts. By then I’d come to think that Christmas was really a religious occasion, and the gift exchange was more of a material, commercially-driven thing.
Which is why my folks, myself and the rest of my family don’t do anything about Christmas these days. Most of us aren’t Christians, and it just feels odd going through the motions of a festival which doesn’t really mean much to you apart from the public holiday. I’d respect it as a festival for those of the faith, and I’d wish my Christian friends “Merry Christmas” just as I would “Happy Deepavali” to my Hindu friends and “Selamat Hari Raya” to my Muslim friends.
That doesn’t stop most people though. Singaporeans, ever keen to assimiliate (some would say ape) aspects of other cultures, have picked up on the Christmas tree tradition, and thus the ka-ching sound you hear at nurseries around this time. Shopping centres continue to boom and Orchard Road becomes a commuter’s worst nightmare, even for pedestrians. There’s always the Christmas light-up along that whole street of malls, each one gaily decorated (remember when gay meant happy?) in their best effort to win the honour of being the best decorated shopping centre.
To end-off, here’s a quote from Steve White, a great musician who recently passed through our part of the world and gave 2 performances and a workshop.
“I’m not sure if you all celebrate Christmas here in Singapore, but back in America we not only celebrate it, we sell it.”
I can say definitely say we celebrate Christmas over here, just that everyone does it their way.
# posted by BloozeGit @ 1:53 am 
