a very early christmas

This morning at 6am, I received a call from Mr. Bear (my very own version of Carrie's Mr. Big). Groggily, I picked up the phone and murmured my hello. He apologized for waking me up. I told him, no worries because it was a fine way to wake up. We made small talk about the things we did and dreamt of since the last time we talked (not that it was that long ago).

Out of the blue, he said, "Merry Christmas, Sweetheart."

When he said it, I felt butterflies in my stomach, goosebumps on my arms, and warm all over. I snuggled deeper into my bed and comforter and couldn't stop myself from smiling sleepily.

After the short call, I streched languidly in my bed with a silly smile on my face. I knew then this Christmas would be better than last.

* * *

I love the "-ber" months. Partly because it signifies the cold season of the year, my birthday, and Christmas. The past few Christmases have sucked. It always starts with a bad birthday and ends with the worse Christmas ever experienced.

However, I stopped counting my birthday when I turned 23. When I turned 24, my folks were in the U.S. and it was the first time I didn't have a party. Last year, I didn't get flowers from my boyfriend. I always get flowers on my birthday when I'm involved with someone and I didn't.

It was downhill from then. I didn't have any Christmas spirit to begin with for the past two years. My friends have known me to celebrate Christmas with much gusto and giving them personalized gifts. Lately, it's all been generic and lame. Lame, in the sense, that I didn't put my heart shopping for gifts and putting a personal touch to it.

I thought this year would be pretty much the same. That is, until my 6am phone call. It surely did feel very much like a wakeup call.

Now, I vow, this year will be a different Christmas.