Abby entered her dark apartment and closed the door behind her securely. She opened the lights and took a deep breath, hearing a telltale wheeze coming from within her chest, telling her that she has the beginnings of an asthma attack — something she always gets when it’s too cold, or when she smells smoke, two of which are present outside.It always happens this time of the year, the end of the year, to be specific. Abby is a chronic asthmatic. She got the asthma from her mother’s side of the family, passed down to her from her great-great-grandmother dow to her, missing all the males in the family. She used to be really sickly as a child; anything could trigger her asthma. As she grew up, she got less attacks, but it was always bad right before New Year’s because of the cooler weather and all the firecracker smoke outside.

She reached inside her bag for her inhaler and took a puff, tasting rough and bitter medicine on her tongue as she inhaled deeply. She waited to feel a bit ease in breathing before going to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of ginger tea.

Abby was glad that the New Year’s mass at her village was done a lot earlier than other places. At least there wasn’t much firecracker smoke yet. If the mass was done any time later, she would not be able to go out at all until the next day where people still light firecrackers even in the midday. At least now she can eat her small New Year’s dinner alone and watch the fireworks from her window — tightly closed so no smoke would come in, of course.

Her kettle whistled, and she poured hot water over the powdered ginger tea. She mixed it, took a small sip and then walked slowly to the living room window, where she would watch the fireworks later. Abby pulled the curtains open and looked at the kids running up and down the street, laughing and running away from the firecrackers they just light up. Loud pops and explosions can be heard near and far as everyone is getting ready for the turn of the year. She could see the parents of the children outside their house, calling their kids, probably for dinner…which reminds her she should start eating.

She closed the windows again and walked back to her kitchen to get the baked macaroni she cooked for New Year’s. Ever since she started living alone, she hardly cooked a lot of food, even for the holidays. What’s the use, she thought, no one’s going to eat it besides her anyway.

As she heated the pasta, she suddenly felt melancholic, something she hasn’t felt for a long time. She watched the round plate twirl around inside the microwave, its quiet hum joining in with the explosions outside, forcing the sad feeling away. She turned around to get a plate when she heard an unexpected noise.

Ding dong!

It was the doorbell.

“Now who could that be?” Abby wondered out loud. She put the plate on the table and walked to the door, curious at who would come at this time, especially at this night.

With a barely audible creak, Abby opened the door just a tiny peek. It would be bad if she got a whole lungful of the sulfur-laced smoke outside. “Hmmm … that’s strange,” Abby said to herself. Outside, through the foggy air, punctuated with bright flashes of multi-colored lights, was no one. Muttering grimly, she was about to close the door when she noticed a small package lying outside the door. It was wrapped in a filmy, yet kaleidoscopically decorated material. Abby quickly went to her room and picked up one of her gas filtration masks. Slipping it over her nose and mouth, she carefully went outside and picked up the box. With a satisfied grunt, she pushed the door shut and took the mysterious package inside.

She twirled the box in her hands for a few moments, thoroughly enraptured with the beautiful colors and patterns of the wrapper when skepticism took over her thoughts. “What could be inside? Probably nothing,” she mused to herself. It made sense that it was some sort of trick played on her by her naughty friends or maybe one of the neighbors. After all, who would leave a package in front of someone’s door on New Year’s Eve?

Then, with some foreboding, another thought came to her, “Maybe this is … some sort of bomb?” The fact that recent terrorist attacks hit the malls and some churches gave her a rising wave of fear. Suddenly, the doorbell rang again.

Abby leaned against the door, conflicted as to how to feel about this series of tiny mysteries. She did not do much to break the stereotype after all; Abby was one of those girls who believed that somewhere out there was the Prince Charming who was searching for her to make her life all better. She grew up believing in the damsel-in-distress philosophies sold by the many Disney’s princesses prior to the cross-dressing Mulan.

She heard the doorbell ring a third time and came upon the decision to put the package down on the nearby table. She turned back towards the door, took a deep breath, then opened it just enough to peer outside.

“Susmayrosep!”

Abby’s eyes opened wide as she watched her Tita Pacita backpedal a tad too fast for her own girth. The older woman was fondly called her Tita out of mere respect for her greater age. She had lived next door to Abby and treated the gal like a member of her own family. Tita Pacita had been startled to see the mask-enclosed face that suddenly stared back at her from the crack at the door. She had pulled backwards in shock, tripped on her own feet, and nearly landed on top of Katsumi, the black stray cat that Abby had named after noticing how it always came to laze at her doorstep.

“Abby,” Tita Pacita gasped between growing bouts of short laughter, “Of all the things to wear. I know you have asthma, but isn’t that being a bit too much?”

Abby smiled at her neighbor and reached up to slide the mask away. There wasn’t as much some as usual anyhow.

“Sorry, just taking precautions. Can’t have an asthma attack on New Year’s Eve,” Abby grinned.

Tita Pacita gave a knowing nod. “Of course, of course. Why, I still remember the time we had to rush you to the hospital when you were ten years old.”

“But wait, where’s my manners? Let’s not talk of asthma on New Year’s Eve. Here!” Tita Pacita took out from a large basket a small cardboard box. “I’ve baked some brownies and thought it would be nice to go around the neighborhood and give them out. You know, for New Year.”

“Tita, you shouldn’t have,” Abby smiled at the thoughtfulness of the old spinster. Her husband died twenty years ago and has not remarried. “I’ll be sure to enjoy this.”

“You’re welcome Abby. Neat things come in small packages.” With a wave, Pacita turned around and waddled off to another house to drop off her brownies.

Abby opened the box and saw there were twelve bite-sized pieces of Pacita’s delicious brownies. She has prodded her to market it commercially, even if small-scale, but Pacita was not the entrepreneurial type. With a delighted sigh, she went back inside and closed the door behind her.

Putting the brownies on the sofa, she turned her attention to the mysterious package. One part of her was telling her to throw it away before something bad happens. The other part was telling her to open it. It might be a nice surprise. Curiosity won out as Abby got scissors and started cutting the wrapper loose.

It was both exciting and terrifying at the same time - she felt her hands grow a little colder as she soon discovered that the parcel was wrapped in multiple layers of paper. She felt her heart skip a beat for every sheet that she unraveled.

Now why was she taking a chance again?

Her inner voice went silent as she stared at a plain white box, which was in stark contrast in its current position - in the middle of what had been its colorful decorative disguise only a few seconds ago. With a nervous shake of the hand she reached for it, feeling the cardboard against her fingers, and slowly, slowly, slowly began to open it.