Who Needs Christmas Anyways

It’s that time of year again.

Lights, seasonal treats on display at the supermarket, and complaining about overpriced train tickets. That’s Christmas for me this year.

I’m always surprised by the arrival of Christmas, no matter how many weeks in advance the ads pop up. And when it does come, I get to complain about all the inconveniences it brings, like how the Holiday Market stands invade my street, and I have to evade slow-walking tourists and merrymakers until the end of the block.

But most of all, I get to not care about it.

I get to feel better than everyone else who has all that emotional attachment to the rituals of the holidays. Oh, look at them, how much they care about such puny and insignificant things. But not me. I am above such consumerism, above the cheap sentimentality that’s sold to the masses in high-fat sweets and high-sugar romantic comedies that came out twenty years ago and have maybe not aged that well (yes, even that one).

I can just carry on, living my ordinary life, pretending like Christmas is just a silly thing some maniacs decide to engage in.

But when did I stop caring about Christmas? I used to like it as a child. Not just getting presents, but the whole feeling of doing something special. I actually loved it.

Some of my most beautiful memories are from past Christmases. From childhood, on the other side of the globe, where Christmas is summer, and I got my first ever skateboard, or when I saw my father drag that freshly cut treetop from the back of the garden, or those other times I saw my cousins, who would become my temporary siblings and let me forget that I am an only child.

And even when the naiveté of wanting presents or trying to catch Santa faded, much of that magic still remained.

Later, having left my parents’ home, during those years of finding adulthood and independence, Christmas was a time to come back home and let other people be adults for a while, to drink from the cup of familiarity after months of living in a brand new world, and perhaps quench that lingering homesickness.

When I was so far away from home that going back was out of the question, I found the beauty of Christmas with other stranded friends. We’d come together as seasonal orphans, an opposite diaspora of sorts, and with very little means make our own celebration, mixing traditions and each bringing a part of their culture, their rituals, the dishes they held close, sometimes delicious beyond belief, sometimes botched by the lack of ingredients (or cooking skills), looking and tasting very differently from the original, but nonetheless holding in full the spirit of intention.

Of such Christmases, I hold two as my favourites.

One I spent in Okinawa, in Simon’s tiny flat, huddled on the floor eating Koldo’s Spanish omelette, Polish latkes and my botched avocado salad; the other was in Vancouver, where we drank many beers, and I shared a very non-botched Spanish omelette with Aniek, Andie, Andreas, and more of my first International friends in Canada. Friends who, eventually, would leave and continue their adventure elsewhere, but for that Christmas, we were all brought together.

Perhaps it was my first Sad Christmas that began my progressive unattachment.

I was still in university, and it was supposed to be my first time bringing a girlfriend home, but she broke up with me a week before the holidays. Not the best start. On top of that, there was some kind of family rift at home, so none of my cousins came that year. It was just my parents and I complying with the seasonal obligations in a cold, dark, old house.

The festive holidays that I had so anticipated turned out to be some of the saddest days I can remember.

I never wanted to have another Christmas like that one ever again, and in the following years, a lot of my excitement faded. There were some good years, but I found that as you grow older and circumstances change, you don’t always have a reliable core of loved ones to share Officially Special Moments® with.

I was hurt by Christmas.

I sensed an external obligation to have a happy Christmas, to celebrate the New Year and kiss someone I loved and who loved me on the first minute of the year. If I didn’t have this, what kind of sad, pathetic loser was I?

I had a duh moment: holidays aren’t about the festivities themselves, but who we share them with.

And after a few mediocre and/or sad festivities over the years, came the addendum to the above realization:

It doesn’t really matter if it’s Christmas or not.

Holidays are a good excuse to get together and celebrate, but let them be no more than that. There is no expectation irrevocably attached to these very specific days of the year. And if rejoicing and celebrating is more about the people than about the dates, maybe it should be about when the people you care for are around.

Make your own excuses to celebrate!

I admit it is not always easy to let go of the burden of imposed expectations, but if you ever find yourself being alone or melancholic during the festivities, just remember that most of it just happens so that big corporations get to sell you shit you don’t need.

And even then, sometimes it’s okay to indulge in the melancholy, too.

I remember the first time I spent New Year’s Eve alone. I was alone in my student flat in Madrid, and for some reason all plans to celebrate had failed to materialize. So instead of eating the twelve grapes mandated by Spanish tradition, I had twelve shots of beer and smoked a cigarette instead.

I am not a smoker, so this felt very decadent and edgy to my young, student self.

There was melancholy, and a little bit of loneliness, granted, but I somehow managed to make it into a memorable evening for myself. By myself.

Sometimes we can use a bit of melancholy. This is not, however, an endorsement of smoking or the consumption of beer via shot glass.

In summary, what I’ve learned is the following:

• Festivities matter because of the people
• Dates don’t really matter that much
• Create your own excuses to celebrate and reach out
• If you happen to be around people you love, celebrate then
• If you can’t be with family or friends for the holidays, that’s okay
• If you’re a little bit sad, that’s okay, too
• Beer and cigarettes are still a bona fide angsty classic

Make of this what you will.