I wanna be home for Christmas

I didn’t care much for Christmas back in the day. My family, as detached as they are, never had a tradition for these festivities. I actually enjoyed way more to spend these days with my first girlfriend’s family. They knew how to feast and party when the holidays came around. Good times that’ll never come back.

Queue the here and now: December 24th, 2019. The last Christmas Eve of the decade. The second one I spend on my own, in cold fucking Denmark, after a damn breakup with a Scandinavian girl. It just keeps happening, doesn’t it?

This is not my first lonely rodeo, sure. I’m hardened by the gray and empathy void of Copenhagen. Almost five years here, by now. Yet, somehow, all these motherfuckers make this time of year feel so damn important that it ends up getting to you, no matter how little you should care. So, yeah, I’m fucking sad. But it’s not just about the holidays themselves. Fuck the holidays. It’s the everything else.

I was supposed to spend the Christmas holidays of 2015 in Norway, with my ex L and her family. I couldn’t fathom staying together any longer, and specially, not all those days in a small town with nothing to do. So I broke up and spent that time alone in our flat in Nørrebro, getting drunk on Christmas beer and watching Die Hard 2. Fast-forward four years and I’m drunk on rosé and getting ready to do, basically, the same shit.

Sending picture of my early Christmas dinner to C over Facebook Messenger (reheated flæskesteg steaks and some salad I got on sale at Føtex.)
C: Looks nice! But not very Christmassy.
Me: I’m alone. No Christmas spirit here *Grinning Face With Sweat emoji*
C: *Pensive Face emoji*
Me: On my second glass of rosé. Getting ready for a very sad write up.
(Actually, on my third glass. Fuck it.)

I have yet to stop loving C. Our bodies are like fucking magnets to each other, unable to stop bumping into one another. We keep chatting, meeting and sleeping together. She invited me to spend Christmas with her and her family, but how could I? I know they don’t like me and the prospect of long days locked in a small house in the suburbs of east Jylland with people that barely tolerate me, well, wasn’t so appealing. So here we are. I mean, figuratively. Here I am. Completely alone, listening to some indie seasonal songs on Spotify.

Can’t do this anymore. It hurts. Why am I still in this fucking country? Far from my people. Profoundly alone. Aimless. Unsuccessful. Blue. Isolated and ignored, in a city with a frozen heart and no love for me. Why the fuck am I still here?

Tomorrow I’ll dig deeper into this. Now I’m too tired and drunk to really make much sense. Looking forward to watching Die Hard and, maybe, Home Alone; drinking the mandatory Christmas beer. Perhaps this post-breakup holiday loneliness will become a tradition in itself, to carry over the years to come. Hopefully not, though.

Merry Christmas, people!

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