Ma bonne étoile: My Lucky Star


Photo taken from Tumblr. All rights reserved.

There was once a little girl who loves gazing at the stars. Every night, she would lie on her back and watch them. She would tell them stories and sing them melodies. Once she finished spilling her heart to the open sky, she would close her eyes and wish for her very own star.

One night, as the little girl gazed upon the stars with her gray and hopeful eyes, she noticed a lone star on the west of the moon. It was just a little speck in the night sky but for the girl, it was the prettiest star she have ever seen. It never made sense to her now, but her little self back then was convinced that she was utterly and completely in love with the star.

Years passed, and the little girl grew up. Still, she gazed on her window every night, faithfully watching her “star.” She would read poetry to it and consistently painted it on her lips, wrists and fingers. In her head, heart and life.

“They are only gas, you know. And some of them are even dead.” A boy told her.

But she did not listen. She continued to talk to her star and the star continued to glow. Her whole life unconsciously turned into a cycle yet, she does not see this.

A bunch of years passed and the girl quickly grew into a woman. But unlike before, her smile lost its radiance. Before, you would see in her eyes a thousands of stories waiting to be told but now, only the remains of failed relationships and broken promises resides in there. She was slowly losing hope for her reunion with her “star.” The woman felt foolish for trusting it. For believing that it could literally sweep her off her feet and bring her to paradise.

This was when she started to blame her misery to the same thing that gave her solace: stars. The only thing she could muster to it was the inevitable question: “Why?” But the star only glowed in response.

Silently, the woman fell on a deep black hole. She did these for a countless of months. Five? Six? She does not know. She does not care.

But one night, the girl decided to gaze at the stars for one, last time.

“For old times’ sake.” The woman said.

“They are only gas, you know? And some of them are even dead.” A voice whispered behind her.

The woman knew that voice. It was a voice from long ago. A voice she did not expect to hear again. She spun around and looked at the man standing before her. She looked at his almost-but-not-quite familiar face.

“For old times’ sake?” The man asked.

The girl gazed at his eyes and smiled.

There was no need for words for at that moment, she felt like the whole universe was standing before her.




They say it’s only a make-believe. A fantasy. But for my childish heart, it’s all REAL.

I can still remember that cold, sleepless night that I spent while waiting for him.

Him. The jolly old man who leaves presents for nice, cute kids.

“Santa Claus.”  I whispered his name carefully, spinning the words onto my mouth. Tasting the sweet, magical feeling that only his name could provide.

I looked at the door. He’s still not here.

2, 3 and 4 hours passed. Yet not even a flash of a huge, red coat appeared.  I looked at the sparkling lights hanging on the Christmas tree. Yellow and white, yellow and white. They blinked like the stars and I suddenly cannot stop watching them as they danced gracefully on a long, thick wire.

After some time, I finally grew tired of the lights and turned my thoughts to Santa Claus again.

“Where is Santa?” I said to the smiling face of the snowman sitting on the table.

“Is he lost? Or am I on the naughty list? Please. No. No. No.” I closed my eyes and prayed.

Minutes have passed but no Santa knocked on the door.

When the clock struck to 11:45 PM, my childish body gave in. I fell asleep while staring on the door and wondering if Santa got my gift right.

I can’t remember how long I slept on the couch that night, I just remembered the strong, muscular arms that brought me to bed and covered me with my warm blanket.

I lay on my bed that night, exhausted but happy. Because somehow, I found my Santa Claus.

* * *

Fiction and fantasy. Half of my life revolved around them. For me, they are all true. They all affected my life in different  ways. The stories that my parents told me when I was a kid are still in my heart. In there, I cherish them. I supply them with colorful rainbows and dazzling wings. I never, ever hated my parents for making me believe in Santa Claus (And many other, fictional beings) because those were the happiest times of my life. Waking up with gifts under the tree, writing thank you letters to Santa, counting the sweets in the stockings. Those were the most innocent and magical days of my life as a child and I kept them inside my heart; wherein I can relive every moment endlessly.