Yesterday, December 25, may just be another day to be merry with complete abandon for some, but in this household the 25th of the 12th month of the year means something more. Probably even more than any other celebrations out there.
Because December 25 is also the birthday of my mother, the person who I always wish to become but staggeringly fail. But despite these drawbacks, both big and small, she accepts them, rises above them with grace and generosity. That is why it is easy never not to love her.
Happy birthday, Ma! And Merry Christmas!