I catch a glimpse of pretty lights on a reflection from where I'm lying down. They're pretty and yellow. Maybe orange. Blinking. Twinkling.

Christmas lights?

I suddenly remember how pleasant my Christmases used to be. There was always a tree and we would always use the same red tinsel, the same Christmas balls and other decor. Only the Christmas lights changed. They tend to lose their brightness every other year or so.

But my favorite thing about that tree was the star.

It was gold and plain and inexpensive. It had red foil in the middle with bits of gold stuff jutting out. I remembered how when I was young, I'd catch myself staring at that star. Sometimes I take note at how dusty it always was.

I never did try to wipe it clean.

Then, I pretend it was a real star and tell it about my dreams and wishes. Then, I pretend it was talking back.

Every year that tree is put together. And every year the tree is taken apart and boxed away in a corner until it is needed again. It was like that for sixteen years.

Last year, I went back to Ozamiz for the holidays and I couldn't find the tree. I figured the place we rented was far too small to afford a huge tree blocking the dining room. I hope they didn't throw it out when they moved from Bagakay.