Growing up doesn’t dim the magic of the holidays it simply reshapes it. Between exam stress and newfound independence, the smallest traditions from childhood can resurface when you least expect them, wrapping you in a quiet kind of comfort. From Barbie movie nights and cookies to decorating your own tree with your mom, this season becomes a bridge between who you were and who you’re becoming. And in the chaos of university life, you just might discover new traditions and a chosen family that feel just as magical as the old ones.
There’s something almost paradoxical about the holidays in university: the older you get, the more magical the familiar childhood traditions feel when they suddenly return in small, unexpected ways. It’s not that adulthood lets you recreate them perfectly, it’s that when they show up again, often in the middle of exam stress and endless to-do list, they feel like small lifelines and a connection to your younger self. And if you’re in a similar stage of life, you probably know that feeling, the way one tiny moment can unlock something you didn’t realize you were missing or really needed.
One of those moments happened the morning my friend texted me asking if she could come over so we could watch a movie and have some hot chocolate. I woke up, groggy and not ready to face another day of studying, and seeing her message immediately gave me something to look forward to. I knew instantly what we would do, because I had my Google Drive full of Barbie movies, all the classics. This of course included all the Christmas ones. I felt this genuinely ridiculous burst of excitement as I opened the folder and scrolled through all the titles. Later that night, she arrived with some sugar icing cookies, and we curled up under blankets, hot chocolate in hand, while Barbie in A Christmas Carol played in the background. By the time the ending rolled around, with the final song to mark the happy ending of the story as soft snow falls, I felt this quiet wave of emotion I wasn’t really expecting. It made me think about all the years my sister and I watched that same movie together at home, usually right before Christmas morning. We’d wake up early, unwrap our gifts, and spend the whole day playing with whatever we got, completely absorbed in our own little world. Remembering that while sitting here, hundreds of kilometers away, felt strange in a comforting way, like a small piece of that time had drifted back to me. Despite the piles of notes and open tabs on my laptop (and mind), home felt warmer and it was like the stress softened around the edges because something from my childhood had stepped back into the room with me. It’s one of those moments that reminds you how thin the line can be between then and now.
That feeling returned again when I decorated my tree this year. My mom drove all the way to visit me by herself (go mom!), and that alone made the day feel special. She put on festive music, started making soup in my kitchen, and I unpacked the tree piece by piece. I realized how small and manageable it looked now. As a kid, the tree felt enormous. It was so tall, so heavy, so impossible that only my dad could assemble it. Now it was me organizing the pieces, fluffing the branches, and untangling the lights. But with my mom, Facetiming my aunt, soup simmering in the background, the moment felt like a grown-up version of the holidays I remembered. The magic didn’t disappear with age, it just changed shape. And if you’ve ever tried to recreate a tradition on your own, you know that unique mix of pride and nostalgia that comes with it.
At the same time, university has given me a completely different set of traditions. These traditions are ones I never expected to value so much. The new “family” you build here, the friends you live with or who show up for (surprise) festive visits, end up creating rituals that feel just as grounding as the old ones. Taking on a baking challenge to whip up some chocolate chip cookies only to have to wait to cool down the butter you overheated and remembering, post-movie, that you need to finish the cookies in the middle of the night. Rewatching the same Christmas rom-com every year because it’s become your unofficial exam-season tradition. Sitting in the living room, making vision boards for the new year on Canva and updating the Destiny Matrix (AKA lifeplan), talking about everything you hope next semester will bring. These aren’t traditions I grew up with, but they’ve become important because they mark this chapter of life, one that is chaotic, stressful, and uncertain, but also full of connection and small pockets of joy. These moments remind me that even far from home, I’ve found a kind of chosen family. I found my people who make ordinary nights feel special and who help build the kind of traditions I’ll probably look back on with the same nostalgia I feel for the ones from childhood. And maybe you’ve felt that, too.
Part of stepping into my own version of the holidays has been collecting decorations of my own. This was something I used to dream about as a kid. I always imagined that when I grew up and had my own place, I’d fill it with decorations I picked out myself, a special ornament in the collection to commemorate each year, Christmas soap and washcloths, and so on. I’m glad to say this dream did pan out! And of course, I had to start with one of those inflatable Christmas characters people put outside their houses. I don’t know why, but I always felt this special connection to Rudolph. He’s been the star of Christmas at my place these past couple of years, the cutest nose that actually lights up. I’ll be getting his girlfriend from the movie this year, hopefully! Everyone needs a little company. Once more, I got a tiny reminder; this time, it was that I’m building a life that younger me would have been excited about, piece by piece, decoration by decoration.
And maybe that’s why nostalgia hits harder now. The old traditions remind you of a time when everything was taken care of for you. The new ones remind you that you’re capable of taking care of yourself, building your tradition list, and that you’re surrounded by people who make the process easier. Going home feels different now, too. Not just because you miss your family, but because you finally understand what those childhood holidays were offering you: comfort, routine, belonging, and this almost invisible sense of being cared for without needing to ask. Now you get to experience both sides of the holidays: the traditions that return to you and the ones you’re learning to create.