As a child, a nuclear family Christmas in Dubai with two working parents meant a lot of cozy holiday privileges like holiday getaways, shopping sprees, parties, eating at fancy restaurants, visiting mega-malls, sitting on Santa’s lap and more. These activities just seemed to imbibe the holiday spirit and ambience and immersed me in the joy of the holiday. In the eyes of little me, Christmas simply brought the city to life.
When I was very young, my parents would sneak out at night while my sister and I were preoccupied to make sure we woke up to presents under the Christmas tree (one that my sister and I would meticulously decorate to perfection); a little older and my family would split up in pairs at the mall to get each other presents (a fun thing to try!). As a Catholic family, we’d also spend extra time at Church, which meant one of my favorite Christmas activities – carol singing. I’d bring forward this little activity with me for years, joining Christmas Choirs or simply playing Christmas carols and festive music lyric videos off Youtube, excitedly singing and dancing along while the rest of my family (who seemingly outgrew the charm of the holiday) reluctantly spectated.
Fast-forward to a couple of years later, and I too, found myself seeing Christmas as just another reason for people to set reality aside and spend money aimlessly. I’d find myself being the reluctant spectator – wondering how others could find it in themselves to pull on the ‘festive, happy December-lever’ every year around Christmas Time and appear to have the time of their lives. And why couldn’t I?
A lot of this might’ve stemmed from the steep shift in my celebrations through the years. Somewhere along the lines, it was assumed that I knew Santa wasn’t real (he is, fight me), and that buying Christmas presents was a pointless exercise for anyone above the age of 7 (P.S. – it’s not, I’m a sucker for them).
Moving to another country, from the U.A.E to India, also meant that people celebrated differently. In India, I’d simply go to Church well-dressed, exchange pleasantries with distant relatives, and return home to plum cake and wine, followed by a hearty dinner. I’d wonder why we didn’t celebrate as outrageously as we once used to, and would often feel rather dissatisfied by the end of December. The only thing outrageous about Christmas in India was the groups of men that skipped from house to house in neighborhoods, belting out Christmas carols like there was no tomorrow. Lucky for me, I had an older sister with a creative bone who shared the sentiment. We began to make our own traditions, which would involve staying up late on Christmas eve to make handmade cards for every family member (we lived with extended family and cousins a lot), and once even made handmade gifts, including a pair of leafy slippers for our baby cousin. Alas, she grew up, and so did I, she moved out, and that tradition didn’t last as long as I wish it did. I’d joyously await Christmas break while in school only to be disappointed by the mundanity of things and the apparent dying spirit of joy in my household.
This might be where one of you may point out that I appeared to be a rather spoilt, materialistic child growing up. And this is where I admit, maybe I was. Little by little, I began to accept the simplicity of the holiday and its little joys– the exception being Christmas dinner– it’s usually one of the most adored and joyous meals I share with my family, where I get to cherish our time together. Still, I’d find myself being the spectator of a cozier, fancier, and more adventurous holiday and my spirit would sink a little. It seemed like that was what Christmas was supposed to look like, so you can imagine my cute but futile attempts to get a then older, quieter family to drop everything to go backpacking in the Western Ghats. It took me way longer than necessary to realize that I’ve just got to take charge of my own happiness. My days of gallivanting through foreign cities on holidays were on hold, and I was forced to redefine and claim Christmas as my own.
I really had to gauge what made me happy about the Christmas holidays and how I could give that happiness to myself. It started with allowing myself to enjoy the little luxuries of sleeping in late and enjoying good food without guilt. I began to bake with my sister when she visited home, and we’d cut the cake after Christmas Mass at Church. I’d spend extra time decorating the house with lights and set the ambience with music playing on speakers. My mother would make eccentric homemade wines that were a lot stronger than store-bought ones, and we’d share scrumptious meals with cousins and my grandparents over a lovely evening of light chatter and fun. We also had a very hefty antique crib that was hand-made for my grandparents years ago, that we’d spend time setting up, carefully placing the dainty fragile figurines of baby Jesus, Joseph and Mary in the center.
I now begin to see Christmas as a holiday to reconnect with my family and my home. Christmas season has grown to be a safe haven; where I settle into the comfort of giving and receiving love and joy, and being extra kind to myself. Picking up on little activities and hobbies I once loved (*cough, annoying carol singing, *cough), going out of my way to make little cards for loved ones and simply wishing people a Merry Christmas with a genuine heart of love. It really never fails to warm your heart and slow down time; before you know it, you’ve sneakily pulled the ‘December-lever’ and you’re blissfully enjoying your holidays before another busy year catches up to you.