No Christmas for me, please

“I’m not celebrating Christmas.” When I say this to people, they all freak out. “WHAT?!” they go, unable to fit in their heads the idea of someone not doing anything special for such a crucial occasion. “It’s no big deal” I say to them, “It’s not that important back in Chile.” I am of course lying. It is a motherfucking big deal there too.

I used to love Christmas, when I was a kid. It was all about the gifts, basically. Because for me there was no fancy dinner or waiting until 12 to open the presents. Just a great Christmas morning, ripping apart paper wraps and playing with new toys. Life couldn’t get better than that.

Growing up, and specially after my dad lost his job, the whole meaning Christmas had had for me was lost. One modest gift per kid, a slightly better dinner and going to bed at midnight; those were our treats then.

Up until now, this time of the year has grown to be one of the most obvious evidences of how fucked up my family is. When we took off the veil of consumerism from our eyes and were forced to share a meal, together, yet completely distant from each other.

24th and 25th of December are nothing but sad reminders of the normal life I haven’t had, the lovely family I didn’t get, the promising relationship I let go. And, most of all, of the deep loneliness that seems to be the only constant in my rather purposeless existence.

No, I am not at all celebrating Christmas this year. There’s nothing to celebrate. I am getting to the end of this year completely alone in a different country, lost in a different continent. Broke up with the best girl I have ever known, because my head wouldn’t let me have a healthy relationship. And, on top of that, I keep struggling to write anything worth reading.

This I’m writing now is not intended to be a pitiful note on my life. It’s more of a memory for the future: this sadness, this questioning of everything, this hatred of Christmas. All feelings I want to remember and laugh about later on. When -and if- this happens, I will probably write something way less “emo” and happier about this season. Right now, I will lock myself in my apartment, get drunk on the gourmet drinks they gave me at work -instead of a bonus- and watch “Die Hard 2.” More Christmassy than that it doesn’t get with me. Not now.

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