Liars liars pants on fire.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Sweet Little Lies.”

It’s December. The season of celebration. The season where nice children will be rewarded with presents from Santa Claus and their parents, where disobedient children will be disregarded. It’s December, the season of love, of joy, of judging, of forgetting, of celebrating and punishing.

In order to get a present, I never lied. I took the blame on myself. As long as something went wrong, I would look at myself critically and asked the questions over and over again: “What have I done wrong? What have I said wrong?” I wanted to meet Santa Claus, I wanted to meet Jack Frost, I wanted to have magic in my life when I was so afraid of everything. I wanted to run away with Santa Claus, I wanted Santa to come to me and maybe then life would be better, life would be filled with magic. I sincerely believed that if Santa came to me, I would be able to tell the world that Santa loved me and that the world would have to accept me as who I was because I was good enough for Santa already.

But Santa never came.

He never came. Year after year, I waited for him but he never came. Year after year I told myself that I was a bad person, a bad daughter, a bad girl and a bad being in all, because Santa never came to me. Year after year, I told myself that I had to be the best. I tried to be as quiet as possible so I would not hurt anyone because hurting someone else was bad. I tried to stay where I was so I would not be in anyone’s way, because I had to be good to be a good daughter, a good girl and a good person. If anything went wrong, I would put the blame on myself because I believed that Santa would not want someone who had done something wrong and would not admit it. I blamed myself and I prayed for Santa’s forgiveness. I hoped that he would forgive me and he would come to me.

But he never did forgive me and he never did come to me.

After a few years, I told myself that maybe I would never be good enough. I told myself that maybe I was not on Santa’s list at all. I watched the people around me got their presents from Santa. I didn’t like them very much, so I wondered why did Santa? It hit me that maybe the world had abandoned. I didn’t know that the world could abandon anyone. I thought about all the children around in this world that had nothing and I thought to myself that I was a lucky and a happy child. Why would I ask something from Santa? Then I hated myself. I hated myself for my greediness and I hated myself because who would love a person that even Santa hate? I could not find an answer to anything. I felt that everyone hated me.

How could anyone love someone that even Santa hate?

Liars liars liars. Those that once told me I was pretty, those that once told me that I was likable. Liars liars liars.

I remembered all the promises made by the people that I love. I remembered how they said that if I was a good girl Santa would come to me. Liars liars liars. They lied. Because no matter how hard I tried, Santa never came. Santa never forgave me for the things that I did. How could someone as nice as Santa be so unforgiving?

“Santa, all I want is to see you.”

One of the promises made yet broken.

Maybe that was not a promise, but to a child, to me, it was. It was a broken promise. It was a proof that I would never be good enough. That was okay, I told myself because I was a lucky child to be clothed and fed. I was a lucky child to live with the people I love. It was a broken promise.

But then again, it was a lie.

If only the adults did not tell me about Santa, if only I never believed in Santa, if only, then I would not cry so hard every Christmas morning, then I would not be so disappointed.

I really thought that Santa could love anyone but then I thought he didn’t love me.

But who would love me?

So, it made me think. Is it really a nice thing to do when you tell a child a fantasy for them to believe in, only for them to realize at their lives later on that the stories that you have told them were never true? Is it really a wise thing to do when we tell stories to young children where there is not truth? Is it a wise thing to tell children that everything is beautiful when you know the society has made it so ugly you can’t even stare? But then again, a child is meant to dream, so it would be so hard on a young child to have to understand and know the cruelty of the society, of the tainted world. It would be so hard. It would be so painful.

So I don’t know.

Sweet little lies. Sometimes these lies are just something we create to cover up the ugliness of this world that we have created.


I still believe in all the beauties that are in within us.


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