My family has never been big on Christmas; we do not have a decorated tree, we do not exchange presents, and Santa Claus was the guy from primary school who we get to take pictures with when we were small. Christmas has always been a holiday and generally involves my parents abducting us to church, bribed with food afterwards.

On Christmas Eve this year, I made it rather clear that I would not be joining them for church. What is the point in showing up merely once a year, I thought? Once is better than none, my dad argued. Look at it as an outing, my brother added. I gave in, and by 20h we were sitting nicely in the car driving to church.

The church was not the one that we normally went to when I was a small girl, before we moved. The smell however was the same; the church packed while the people solemn and quiet. The mass started and I turned my attention towards the children carrying crosses, candles, and flowers, followed by the group of pastors. The rituals of songs and conversational preaches were religiously performed. I followed blankly, a dutiful act of copying and herding, until I began feeling stupid for I have not understood the why of it all. I frowned and wondered whether someone might frown at me if I were to leave the young mass.

My dad suddenly turned and asked me with obvious silent signs to figure out the page that contains the text currently being sung. I flipped through the booklet, and my ultimate finding was followed by his slow singing that either joined or trailed the mass. He held the booklet towards me, hoping that I would participate and yet silent I remained.

I wanted to throw in a witty remark, or to ask whether they understand the rituals we were supposed to follow. However, seeing them joining and stumbling but continuously trying silenced me. This is their ritual, their way of seeking solace and finding meanings. Who am I to judge?

I didn't start singing, I didn't say a word when we were supposed to fill the void, I didn't have an epiphany on that sacred night. Instead, I sat there sandwiched between my dad on my left and my mom on my right throughout until the end. A slight nostalgia flirted with me, and we proceeded to supper at a sandwich place after we claimed my brothers who were sitting outside the church and stayed awake until midnight.

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, wherever you are and whoever you are with.

Recently, there has been a strange development in my nocturnal activities: I have started beading and making my own bracelets. Hours would past unnoticed while I try to combine colors into a harmony that I would wear and later undo the next day as I would be no longer satisfied with it. Days would past like this, elastic strings attached and dis attached, beads joined and separated once more. Happy.

Last Saturday, I decided to visit the traditional local crafts market whose name is legendary for the creative bunch that by all account excludes me; visible in how lost I was throughout my entire stay there, as evident by the number of people asking me which store I am looking for in the sincere pity for a lost duck.

I wandered around, amused by everything yet anxious of finding anything. I walked out of the last beads store in vain, ready to give up for the day, to the music of traditional Indonesian acoustic. I walked aimlessly, nostalgic from the little carts selling the simple delicacies of my childhood. I walked through the textile stores selling cloths, where the Indian and Indonesian owners called out for the wandering to pay a visit through their prided collections.

Suddenly, my gaze was stolen and frozen on a dark brown silk Batik that flows down the headless mannequin's contoured cotton body with the splendors of hand-painted golden flowers near her ankle. Despite my complete lack of basic sewing or other cloth-processing awareness, I walked in and left with 2m of it. All the while, the musicians played on in the humid heat of the outdoors.

I felt like a Javanese princess, electronic readers, it was so beautiful that this simple act remained with me until today.