Never have I felt this sad around Christmas. My aching heart woke me up at 5:10am. Boom, boom, boom, it thumped (my heart pumps dejection through me at a rate of 70 aches per minute). I have always loved Christmas. It was the one celebration that tenuously meant something to me. Birthdays are cruel reminders of your accumulated failings. Easter is a desperate attempt to resurrect some meaning after a long, bleak winter. Midsummer is a wonder but its oozing greenery is too much for me: I can’t take all that overflowing radiance. Frankly speaking, it makes me want to violate a tree or molest a shrub. As for the New Year, it goes against my entire philosophy of life. A lifetime of having to listen to fireworks whizzing, banging and booming away in the neo-night has left me with PTSD. But Christmas…

It was the light I loved. It was the idea that we conjure up light just when life is at its darkest. We rouse ourselves from the hypnagogic gloom of winter, we form a self-contained little glow amid the barren, frozen landscape. I am not talking about the blinking fairy lights that hypnotize us today but a few humble, flickering flames by the life-saving hearth of early habitations. Despite the lovely fairy lights festooning my arched windows, I feel unseasonably heavy-hearted. The glow they give off has no warmth, there is no tinge of hope in their halation. It feels like something wicked this way comes…

I will take a break from writing. Hopefully we will meet again in the new year. I urge you to indulge yourself, eat lots of overpriced food, drink lots of overtaxed alcohol. Be with the people you love, conjure up some of that magical Christmas warmth. Because we do not know what will happen next year. Because we know what happened this year. We saw what a beating truth took. We saw what a rampage hate went on. We saw the worst kind of history stirring. For now, though, make the most of this timely lull. And thank you for reading. Hopefully that will be reason enough to write on.



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