Christmas is a time that’s supposedly meant to be spent with family, right? But what really is family? Relatives? Whom share a blood relation? Or maybe it’s just people who care about you.
I look around this table… and I see familiar faces. Familiar faces, but absent hearts. To my left, my cousins are gossiping away. Sharing anecdotes about their lives. Engrossed in conversation. To my right, the older folks dancing around our poorly dressed up Santa. Laughter dancing through the air (from both sides), invading the dark clouds that hang above me… Christmas is not so jolly for me.
Their voices fill the room as their chatter awakens me from my daze. ‘What did you get for Christmas?’ Ah, the typical debate of this festive night. ‘An iPod Touch!’ ‘A new phone!’ ‘These cool heels!’ Their eyes now shine down on me. ‘… Nothing,’ I mutter. For a second their eyes bellow with sadness. Pity even. But that’s a distant memory now. Their gossiping away like I had never uttered a word. My heart ached. Not for a longing of materialistic things. But for the joy of having someone, like your parents, their parents, thinking about your widened smile or the glow in your eyes when you unravel their gift only to find your parents had been listening all year. Had cared. And bought you something you had craved all year. It saddens me, not because I had no gifts (some people don’t have the luxury of showering their children with expensive things), but the fact that despite your neglect and torture all year round, you didn’t have anything to show for it. Not a hug. Not a letter. Nothing. Your heart is just absent. Your love? Is it even alive… for me?
Every year I tell myself, it’ll be different this year. You’ll show you actually care. Just maybe. And every year, you disappoint me. That’s your gift to me.
Merry Christmas, indeed.
