“Well, what I am trying to say here is that I’ve been doing my best to get myself busy and occupied to avoid this very situation I am in right at this very moment… But then, here I am face to face with the melancholies of Christmas.”
I’ve been keeping myself distracted for the past few days. With my brother here, it has been easy. We’re enjoying each other’s company making the most of his vacation. Movie nights, badminton matches, goofing around and, my most favorite of all, midnight (and even morning or afternoon, time really is immaterial) conversations. Well, what I am trying to say here is that I’ve been doing my best to get myself busy and occupied to avoid this very situation I am in right at this very moment. This sudden remembering of what we are missing and why we are missing them. This torrent of memories of past and long gone Christmases, the happier ones, and the realization why those happy Christmases were no more. This pang of sadness as reality made it impossible for this Christmas to be better than the last six we had. But then, here I am face to face with the melancholies of Christmas.
The first and foremost melancholy of Christmas—and probably the main reason for others that follow? Your absence… I miss you so much. It’s been years and it is inevitable to think of you every time the season approaches. Especially when it finally arrives… and it is inevitable to cry a little, to feel sad a little, to feel empty a little.
I cannot even remember a Christmas day that was spent without you, of course with the exception of those seven lonely Christmases. Because the occasion is family time. You made sure of that. So you see, we’re having difficulty celebrating it now, without you. It was never the same since the year you left. We tried, though. And we keep on trying. If not to recapture that same feeling of happiness and contentedness, at least to make the day bearable, tolerable. And I think we are making progress on this struggle.
Well, as for me, I just need to elude this grip of being alone, the breeding ground of all melancholies. I need to stay away of its perimeter. Then, everything will be okay. The season will pass without me stringing words, from my limited vocabulary, in attempts at describing how I feel, explaining myself for being guilty of them, and keeping the tears at bay… unshed.