Inexorable, time
brings another Christmas. 2011. Another year.
Most people appear to feel
the need, perhaps a socially-imposed obligation, to make a show that they are
sharing something they are likely to consider either mirth, or happiness, or a
general state of wellbeing. Yet some of us do not feel that way. Some of us
cannot feel that way even if we wanted to. And believe me, we do try.
I don’t like being
told to have a ‘Happy Christmas’, because it is not going to be happy for me.
It cannot be. Like all children in the Western world, my 6-year old Clea loved
Christmas, she thoroughly enjoyed the excitement leading up to the morning of
the 25th when she would find the presents she wanted. She had believed
the Christmas lie line hook and sinker. How else could it be?
It’s not possible for
me to feel excited or make a show of excitement for my other two children. I
could of course pretend, but would that be the sort of honesty your children
deserve from you?
What’s worse, of
course, is that there’s always the insufferable
twaddle like the following from a Mr Juan Arias in El País: ‘En
Europa esta Navidad no será particularmente alegre. Será forzosamente triste
para aquellos a los que la crisis económica ha dejado en la cuneta de la
pobreza y de la desesperación del empleo. Triste para los que aun no habiendo
sufrido el zarpazo de la bestia, no deberían dejar de sufrir por las víctimas
del sistema que crearon los financieros sin escrúpulos.’
Sob. Pass me the Kleenex,
please. There, there, that’s better. ¿El
zarpazo de la bestia? Tough, hard, it may and will be. No doubt. But sad? Spare us this mindless drivel.
Mr Arias begins his
article with the above and then goes on to preach (the tone of the article sounds
very much like that of a preacher) about peace, hope, generosity, the evil powers
of neo-capitalism and rampant consumerism. It’s all very well, but it reads
like the typically hollow Eurocentrism (if not utterly hypocritical claptrap)
to make the connection between sadness and a situation of unemployment and
poverty. Millions of people have been living (and will continue to live) in
abject poverty for many years but have managed to remain cheerful, almost happy
(whatever that may mean).
It’s Christmas, yes, but
I don’t celebrate. My Christmas is sad for reasons which are nothing to do with
the economy. And I’d rather not hear about positivity, about these being times
for joyous sharing, about the cheerful spirit of Christmas and gift giving. I’ve
stopped believing in all of that.
So there are other
things I’d rather hear. I’d rather see a more widespread awareness that we are
overusing our finite resources and indulging in overconsumption as if there
were no tomorrow. For some of us, there’s some truth to that, though. It feels
like it’s a no-tomorrow, or perhaps the sense that that no-tomorrow is just
fucking too long a time.
I’d much prefer to have
read a mention of my daughter’s name in those pesky wasteful Christmas cards, and
an insinuation that there's awareness of how sad it must be for us, as
Clea’s no longer with us to celebrate Christmas, because, like all children,
Clea loved Christmas.
I’d much prefer to
hear words such as ‘don’t drink too much’, because the fact is that I’m very
likely to drink and cry myself to exhaustion, and it’s very well known what
alcohol does to sad people. Those are the sort of things I’d prefer.
Tomorrow, on Christmas
Day, after my two boys have received their presents, I will go out into the garden
and pick a bunch of colourful flowers – it’s lucky Christmas happens
during summer down under. We will take them to the cemetery and leave them on
Clea’s grave. Happy Christmas, babita, my loved one.
That’ll be my sad
Christmas Day.
Enjoy yourself since you
must.
