Santa Baby, don’t hurry down the chimney tonight.

I woke up to realise it was Christmas Day, and out of a family of five, not one of us had bothered to buy, wrap, and place at least one present under the poor, pretty tree.  I felt a sudden gush of disappointment with a sugary-guilt topping.

My emotions were all topsy-turvy, and then I really woke up.  I checked the calendar to notice that to my luck, it was still the 13th of December- and then, the real guilt kicked in. My thoughts were too vague to be described.   Christmas is about ten days away, and Christmas shopping had not yet even strolled through my mind.  It occurred to me that while a decade ago I had a 3-month-Christmas-countdown, now I did not even have a 2-week-notice of it. And what’s even worse is the fact that I wasn’t even bothered to demand my annual, much loved,  Christmas envelope from my dear parents. I have noticed that my anticipation for Christmas has been lessening over the years, but have I out-grown Christmas?

After finding out that Santa Claus was a myth at the innocent age of seven, and spending another couple of years after that putting up a tray of cookies and a glass of cold milk for Santa, (which my parents had stopped being bothered to eat, desperately hoping that I will finally get the hint), my Christmas spirit had dimmed a little bit.  It felt like someone dropped a sack of shit on my imagination.  But I still looked forward to Christmas at least when the calendar flipped over to December, until recently apparently.

There’s exactly twelve days to Christmas, and really, that’s not a lot. So now, I’m putting on my Santa hat, and  going to try to embrace Christmas as much as possible. Starting off by organising my very own Christmas party. Santa baby, I really do belive in you, now let’s see if you believe in me.

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