Christmas in the Southern Hemisphere? Definitely not as romantic as chestnuts roasting on an open fire. But wherever we may be during the most Hallmarked holiday of the modern calendar, it’s hard not to inadvertently sentimentalise the occasion – so this year, I’m not even going to try. (As in I’m not NOT going to try to go sappy and cliché.) (As in… okay, never mind.)

Up until the morning of The Night Before my Christmas spirit added up to about zilch but you know what? Something about seeing three groups of buskers not fifty metres from each other, carolling earnestly in a last-ditch attempt to capitalise on seasonal goodwill makes the advent of Christmas really hit you in the face. Not to mention the liberal amounts of glitter and shiny things scattered everywhere that you can’t avoid unless you live under a rock and plan never to come out. Slipping in that Bing Crosby Christmas cassette and playing it on loop, adding another card to the ever-growing collection on the wall in the living room, all the things that at any other time of year mean nothing at all, but somehow, when Christmas rolls around – hearing good old Barbara break into the first few notes of White Christmas… it just sends a tingle up your spine.

It was difficult sometimes, growing up an only child in an unsentimental family – it tends to be kind of lonely when you’re the only one to whom the holiday means something, and there’s no one around to share that with. Even more when instead of getting together with the rellies (of which the only ones who matter are hundreds of miles away) for a big Christmas bash, you’re spending the day on a plane or on a car trip to some random destination where you’ll end up having cold noodles for dinner because everything’s closed and no one’s bothered to make a booking at a restaurant in advance. It feels like everyone’s having a blast at a party that you haven’t been invited to. Childhood was almost a different story though; there was always Santa and a surprise under the tree to eagerly await. But what’s left to do when the tree hasn’t been dusted off for the last three years and the tinsel sits mouldering in the dining room cupboard?

I’ve gotten used to it. When I was younger and imagination didn’t seem quite as silly a thing, I used to pretend I belonged to one of those wholesome traditional turkey-basting families, preferably sitting round a crackling fireplace as the snow melted on the windowsill outside, nursing a mug of eggnog while Ma, Pa and the kids swapped stories and jokes until late into the night, whereby everyone would retire to bed with a last goodnight of “Merry Christmas” and fall asleep with smiles on their faces. Okay, well maybe no one spends Christmas like that anymore, but it was always a nice dream, you know?

Anyway, someone should probably whack me over the head before I launch into one of my elaborate spiels. What I was MEANING to say was that no matter how (un)conventionally you’re going to spend your Christmas Day, no matter who you’re spending it with, be happy. Laugh. Have a ball. Take a quiet moment out of it all to appreciate the good things and forget about the bad things. Forgive someone. I’d like to say forever, but you’ll probably go back to hating them on Boxing Day and I can’t do anything about that, but forgive them for Christmas and just feel what it’s like to spend a day without hate.

There now, that didn’t blow the top off your sap ‘o meter, did it?

0Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home