I live in an extended family. Having 12 people in a single house is a way of life. Sharing rooms, sharing bathrooms, sharing a home with 11 other people is not so strange for me. Christmas is loud and eventful and busy every single year. Traditions are abundant and followed religiously.
We had a lot of those before… traditions. We would dress up in nice clothes, sit around the Christmas tree on Christmas eve, gorge on cake and pasta and ice cream while watching whatever Christmas Special was on TV. We will wait until the clock strikes 12, greet each other Merry Christmas and pick just one present to open. My brother and I would treat this picking like an art form. We would choose the present that would seem most likely to hold the gift that we are hoping for. It could be that it’s shaped like the packaging of an action figure he wanted or the shape of a book that I was hoping for. Sometimes we get it right, other times we don’t and we grudgingly go to bed and force ourselves to sleep so we can open the rest of our presents in Christmas morning.
We would put socks by our windows and then wake up to find them filled with coins and candy.
Time marched on and took all those traditions, as well as my extended family one by one. Relatives flew to another country, my grandmother followed them, my grandfather stayed in the province until 12 became 5. And the 5 people that remained in this house lived secluded; shut inside their rooms, myself included. My home was my room.
I started dreading Christmas.
At the time when everything is just bursting with good holiday cheer and relentless optimism, I found myself in a quiet home, so different from the Christmas I used to know. I remember what Christmas used to mean for me, and the traditions that shaped me as a kid and then I look at what I got now and I would cry. Sad that I don’t get to dress up in nice clothes, sad that I don’t get to sit around the Christmas tree, sad that I don’t get to strategically choose the gift that I will open first… I was sad because the way I saw it, I lost Christmas. Time and distance stole it from me.
In the years that followed, Christmas became a dreaded event. I was scared of the holidays because I know my friends and everyone else will be busy with their families and I would be left with nothing to do. I will be left in a quiet home with bright lights that cast shadows on the empty living room. And then I would cry. I didn’t want to, but I knew I would.
However, this year wasn’t so bad. I didn’t cry, for one. For 7 years I have holed myself up in my room, playing video games and reading books while the rest of the world hug and kiss and talk. This year, I still did all those things but I wasn’t sad anymore. I guess I learned to appreciate Christmas because it is Christmas and it makes people happy. It may not give me the happiness or warmth I knew when I was a kid, but I’m still pretty happy for the rest of the people in the world who are reunited with their families. I say Merry Christmas and I truly mean it.
Because Christmas isn’t all about dressing up on Christmas Eve, sitting around a Christmas tree and picking out a gift to open. It’s not just about putting socks by the window and waking up to see it filled with coins and candy.
Traditions reinforce the idea but as long as I have the idea ingrained in my system, I don’t need it to remind myself that Christmas what the holidays are all about: happiness. I shouldn’t feel bad about not having traditions or family reunions. I am happy, my brother and sister are safe, we’re in good health (although this cough should reeeeally leave my body soon ugh) and somewhere in London, and Canada and Saudi, people whom I’ve shared family traditions with are also safe and happy.
So I say Merry Christmas!
Merry Christmas indeed. 
touch it?
Posted on December 25, 2010 by Nic
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