Christmas In A Box Volume II.

~1~

Christmas to me.

"Most people have different definitions of Christmas; some see Christmas as a day to rest and enjoy themselves, some see Christmas as some kind of break from their office duties and many more." The voice of the priest echoed around the church as he preached. The once lively church that had been all joyous was now calm and quiet as they listened to the homily.

"Have you ever sat down to ask yourselves the meaning of Christmas to you? Christmas, Christmas, Christmas, everyone is talking about Christmas but what exactly does this Christmas mean to you? Is it just a normal day that goes by in your life? What significance does Christmas have in your life?" The priest had asked during his homily and that question got me thinking.

What exactly was Christmas to me?

To me, Christmas was always that time of the year that I dreaded the most. We had this tradition of having a special get together with the entire family from both sides, then Mom would have to dress up all pretty and put up an act that all was well and Dad would also make the act believable by treating her like a queen.

To me, Christmas had always been my most annoying time of the year. Where Dad's Family members—being university graduates—came to brag about their achievements in life while Mom's Family sat quietly and listened, unable to contribute because they all ended their studies at the secondary level.

To me, Christmas had always been that special day where everyone forgot my existence. Not like my presence was always recognized but it always got worse on Christmas day. The presence of other family members dimmed out my presence completely.

To me, Christmas had always been that period when my annoying cousins who attended boarding school returned home and bragged about their schools and fought amongst themselves on whose school happened to be the best. Since I hadn't been to a boarding school, I would sit in their midst and drown myself out of their conversation.

I never really got over the thick dryness that hovered around during the Christmas season, how I had to lick my lips at intervals just so that my lips didn't dry up. I tried as much as possible to develop a ritual of spending minutes unending, rubbing large chunks of Vaseline against my skin to maintain a false ebony glow.

The time I had to continuously sweep the family compound because of how the dead leaves rained down on the ground like there was a rain storm and my cousins also didn't help matters since they always swung on the trees like monkeys and as much as I tried to match their enthusiasm, I couldn't forget how my back ached as I bent it in an arch to sweep the large compound; to pack up the leaves they shook down the trees yet I couldn't yell at them—I'd be too uncultured.

Christmas was a period not a day to me. It was a torturous period when I had to join my female cousins and aunties in the large family kitchen watching the older women bend over outside the kitchen while they fanned the fire that burned harshly under the very big metal cooking pot in the native kitchen outside the family house. The women talked and laughed in hushed whispers and thick accents hanging on their tightly fitted smiles that slashed across their faces.

I had to stand the aunties reminiscing on their younger days and trying to pry into each and everyone's love lives while chopping the cabbages, green peas and other vegetables for the meal that the older women prepared.

Another tortuous journey of general family dinner with strange villagers trooping in and out to collect food or money ensued afterwards. I watched as father slipped scrunched two hundred naira or five hundred naira notes into the hands of the sweaty villagers who flashed smiles at him while calling him titles and praising him while mother smiled and pretended not to have seen anything when I knew that they would have another argument behind closed doors about how my father was always complaining that there was no money for house-keeping and school fees when he squandered them on strangers to save face.

We never really went to church and we seemed to forget who exactly we celebrated. The main reason had long been forgotten and it had already become a painful tradition, year after year. To seal yet another awful celebration, we ended it with a family picture where everyone but me smiled ever so cheerfully to the camera and we said our goodbyes despite Aunt Pamela and Uncle Timieyin's families who kept stressing that they needed to catch flights back to various oyinbo lands they resided. The way they stressed on it like we did not know what flights were and we never got on one irked me all the time.

Today, I sat in church alone and wondered if the priest was talking to me. The way he kept looking at me, maybe it was just my guilty conscience eating me up.

"The celebration of Christmas doesn't have to be influenced by your external surroundings in order for it to be a blissful one, it could be you being at peace with yourself and welcoming Christ into your heart," the Priest said, "above all, your Christmas would work in the way you define it. If you define your Christmas as a beautiful day, you find yourself being happy and having a beautiful day and if you see it as a bad day, it will be a bad day. So, define your Christmas rightly. Peace be with you all."

The homily was meant for me, each word that had been preached tugged at my heart, each of them correcting the negative ideas I had in my head for so long.

Your Christmas would be however you defined it.

How had I been defining my Christmas?

I had always seen Christmas as the worst day I would do anything to avoid. Would things change if I changed how I saw Christmas?

What was Christmas to me?

Christmas wasn't a day of pain but a day of joy. That explained why Mom and Dad put aside their differences and always had fun on Christmas day, because on Christmas day we celebrate the birth of someone great.

Christmas wasn't a day to brag and boast but a day to embrace everyone. That's why no matter how well- educated Dad's family members were, they still made out time to be present for our family dinner with Mom's uneducated family members.

Christmas wasn't a day of holding grudge but a day to love everyone. That's why no matter how different our schools were, my cousins and I still played together.

Christmas was the day my savior was born. A day He was welcomed into this world. A day we finally met distant family members who had been away all year round and listened to their experience throughout the year. It wasn't bragging, they were only sharing their life experience with their family.

Christmas was also a day to share to those who had lesser. Dad wasn't squandering but giving to those who had it less, although we were also struggling but he still gave in the spirit of Christmas.

I had never seen Christmas in this view because I always called my Christmas bad and that was why I always hated Christmas.

Do you feel like that too?

Do you hate Christmas because it makes you feel pathetic and it makes you feel sad and hurt?

Maybe you could just be defining your Christmas wrongly like I was. Think positively and define your Christmas again.

Who knows? Maybe the meaning you have been reading for a while might just have another sub meaning that you had never really seen before.

What is Christmas to You?

~Tinazy. augustina009