that most wonderful time

It’s the most wonderful time of the year, or so sang Andy Williams and I normally would agree with him. The festive season almost always brings out the good in everyone, myself included though this year I fear I was not included in that memo. I’m not really in the most chipper of moods nor am I remotely ready for the big day next week and if I am honest I don’t even feel like celebrating period. Which is so bizarre for me, since Christmas has always been my favorite time of the year, no exceptions! All my favorite memories come from sitting around those twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, eagerly awaiting for the clock to strike midnight so we can all open those presents that have flooded most of the living room.

But this year it’s taken me a good week just to put up our little Christmas tree and decorate it. Presents are yet to be purchased and usually by this stage I’ve planned out an extensive dessert table menu and scheduled myself in preparation for the strenuous days of baking to follow.

I am not looking forward to Christmas. Not at all. I’ve been putting all this (lackluster) effort into making it a ‘magical’ day or two and I can’t help but wonder what the hell for?

No one cares in our family. It’s really only me who is always somewhat excited for it and really, excited for what?

This year I had such high hopes and beliefs that I’d be celebrating Christmas Eve dinner at my very own place, inviting the family over to my house to join in my over the top, Martha Stewart like festivities. Revel in my over-decorated opulent Christmas tree and light display and oh and ah over the feast I prepared. Even thinking perhaps my uncle and his family would come along and join us this year, uniting our family once more. And even if it wasn’t together with my parents, at least I got to see them anyway.

Sadly no, I am at it alone again. Making all this effort and spending all this money I don’t really have on people who don’t even care and won’t even appreciate my efforts and hard work which are always so damn huge, especially the on the gifting front. You know, being unemployed and all. To be fair, mum did ask me what I’d like and I told her I’d love a Claire Aristides bracelet. This ensued into an argument about how I had plenty of jewelery already and then questioning over, according to her, the apparent disappearance of my old gold jewelery that I had as a child. I gave up on that thinking maybe the bracelet was to dear for her to spend that kind of money on me. Then I had a stroke of genius and remembered how much I wanted Jamie Oliver’s new cookbook so I told her. Again, another argument broke loose about how I do not need another book and she will not buy me another. Really I should have seen this coming, why did I even bother to ask, so I told her whatever, I’d buy it for myself and place it under the Christmas tree and that’s when I realized…

Again the only presents that will lay patiently awaiting for someone to dig their hands in and rip apart that cheap Santa Claus printed paper open will be virtually purchased by myself. It’ll be my responsibility to purchase for me because if I don’t, well no one will and I won’t have a damn thing to tear into. Which probably sounds so materialistic and fickle but at this time of the year it would just feel so wrong to sit there and watch the three of them opening things I brought for them while no one bothered to show the same kindness to me.

So Christmas this year will be an awkward one, sad at the very least. Filled with exuberant and delicious food, partnered with long silences and the four of us retreating into separate corners of the house. Hell, we’ll probably just end up opening presents straight after dinner rather than waiting for traditional midnight as we always have on Christmas Eve because my brother will insist upon it so he can leave and go back to the comfort of his own home.

And around that tree the only presents awaiting me would have been purchased by me alone.

Yeah, Merry Christmas indeed,



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