It Really Doesn't Look A Lot Like Christmas

I woke up, or rather I was woken up, my door flying open, the bell hanging on the doorknob by a single string of lanyard jingling as much as the little thing would allow. The family bursted in one by one, not to greet me, but rather to take their turns being obnoxiously loud. It was Christmas, but I wasn't happy.

But I had already experienced about five hours of Christmas. I couldn't sleep that night, and so it took me until the very early hours of the morning to finally pass out. In general though, to be woken up after three hours of sleep is always rather unpleasant. I reluctantly sat up in bed though after my brother decided to throw my gift at me, my sole gift. Even the family friend I could rely on to get my brother and me oversized sweaters resorted to gift cards this year. But anyway, I picked up my brother's gift and started to unravel the unnecessary layers of wrapping paper that was the result of his bad gift-packaging job. "At least you made the effort," I said to him with a half-smile. I didn't bother to go to the tree either. Why? Because we didn't have one.

When I finally felt like it, I got up to brush my teeth and such. I looked out the window. It was bright. Were the trees not stark naked, I could have believed that it was actually somewhat warm outside, but like everything else they were bare; there wasn't a touch of spirit anywhere.

I looked at the ground. The snow from the past two weeks had finally melted. Ironic, I thought. Then I remembered how much I wanted it to snow. A white Christmas I had wanted. Wouldn't that have been nice?

...

After showering, I got dressed. I was going to New Jersey to see my cousins, something I was looking forward to as I hadn't seen them in months. Around noon, my family got in the car after much delay and we set off.

But the car ride was not pleasant.

"I don't know! You didn't raise us!"

I've never told my brother about any of that. So for him to notice it as well brought a new wave of tears to my eyes. It wasn't just me then. It was true.

I kept quiet the whole time. My brother retorted for me.

"So what do you want us to do? Put up a tree? Buy you whatever you want instead of giving you money?"

"It's not about that! Not everything is about money, you know?"

"Would you rather us work from only 9-5 and suffer because we'd just be getting enough money to get by?"

"Maybe. I guess. I mean, suffering teaches you things."

More arguing.

"So what do you want us to do? Tell us."

"I don't know! It's... not something that can be explained."

Even if it was though, my parents would never understand. They may care about us, and love us and are concerned about us, but they don't know what it means to be family.

We finally arrived at my cousins' house about an hour after the whole argument started. I greeted them, trying not to show any traces of that car ride conversation, but failing somewhat because subconsciously I think I needed to talk to someone right then and there. But their house was small and there wasn't any privacy, and the mood was too jovial to ruin anyway with my selfishness and personal pain, so I refrained myself from actually saying anything.

...

While I really was glad to see my cousins, there was something sad about it as well. With everyone sitting over a late lunch, my cousin started to talk about his experience with the police academy so far. I sipped my soda quietly as he casually told us about the difficult trials and constant training they had to go through.

"Yeah, I gained back my father's love," he said jokingly.

Except we knew he wasn't joking, or at least I did. His father really did disown him when he dropped out of Rutgers to pursue film. While he did graduate from another school I believe, he couldn't find a job anywhere, which has led him to his current state.

His father patted him on the back and smiled. He smiled back too, but I cringed at the sight. There's something wrong with pursuing what you love, but nothing wrong with putting your life on the line? Maybe there isn't anything wrong with the latter, but what's wrong with the former? Is that the only way a son can gain back his father's love? "Does he even want to do it?" I wondered to myself. Judging by the way he spoke, I couldn't even be sure.

...

On the way home, when I reached Manhattan, my friend called. Though I'm used to going long periods of time without speaking with her, after two days it was comforting to hear her voice again. I continued to speak with her until I had actually fallen asleep while still on the phone, and while our conversation started out casually, by the time I was home, alone in my room, and it was one or two in the morning, it began to get more serious.

"Ugh! I just can't believe they didn't spend Christmas with me," she said in frustration. Her family was somewhere in New Hampshire. "It's like they don't even know how much Christmas means to me."

Ironically, I chucked. "I know what you mean." Then I told her what happened.

"It's like I don't even care anymore!"

"I know," I replied. "But I mean, when you're used to growing up without anyone there, you don't want to spend time with them in the first place."

...

And as perfect as we want to think our lives are, as happy as we want to be and as fortunate as we think we are, we realize that our lives are probably missing the most important element in life. We may feel happy and fulfilled, but when you lack this feeling of familial warmth, you cannot help but feel horribly and haplessly hurt.

And when I think about it, when I think about all my friends, I wonder if it is that lack of warmth, that lack of feeling, that lack of family that draws us all together in the first place.

Soon the bells will start,
And the thing that will make them ring
Is the carol that you sing
Right within your heart.