Unlike most children, holidays for me were nothing more then a breif break from my schedule. My schedule of constant learning of the arts. But even during these breaks, the holidays turned into a boring ritual. Nothing trully surprised me as a child.
By the time I was seven, I stopped believing in the existence of a jolly, old man that could fit through a chimney or a rabbit delivering eggs around the globe. It just seemed too illogical to believe in. But for the sake of my uncle, I kept this false believe to keep the nature and spirit of the holidays going. If anything, the only magic found in the holidays was the mysterious appearance of my parents. Two people whom I thought abandoned me, would appear each year at Christmas and Easter to visit me.
But their visits were never pleasant. My father...oh my father. No matter how hard I tried to please him, he always found fault in me. He even managed to find some fault in the gifts I gave him. My mother, I barely saw. She would never see me for Easter but would appear around Christmas. I thought it may have been because my mother hated the holidays. But in later years, I discovered it was because the two had seperated from each other. Most likely after they departed with me.
My mother....I never understood why, but my mother always tried her hardest to get to know me. Every Christmas, she would give me a gift, like a book, and then she would put me on her lap and tell me stories. Stories, old myths from the land she was born and raised in. Tales of fox spirites, kitsunes tricking wanderers, tales of princesses going to the moon, and ancient heroes with mystic swords.
It was with her stories that I acquired a curiousity for the paranormal. In my early youth, such legends were just fables to appease to young children. But even these fables held a certain nostalgic bound between my mother and I. Perhaps, I loved Christmas out of all the holidays because it gave me that chance to know her.
But like most things, nothing ever lasts forver. By the time I turned seventeen, my father completely abandoned me once more and my mother was gone from this world. It was with her absence I desired to study mythology. My uncle was not too keen on this. He believed that mythology was nothing more then hints to historical facts of civilization. But my experience in later years, begs to differ. For with my mother's death, I started to walk a strange path to the unknown.
To be continued...
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