so, this is christmas?

and what have i done? on the loss of childhood and the festive season.

I bought my own advent calendar this year, for the first time.

Up until now, it was always my mum buying it for me. I didn’t even have to think about it. The first of December would reveal itself and, by a method unbeknownst to me, the purple package full of Cadbury’s chocolate would materialise in the cupboard, as if by magic. That’s how all of Christmas felt as a child – magical, with festivities and decorations being unveiled all over the house: presents under the tree and baubles on its needles, little me arriving only at the end to christen the fir with its shining star. ‘Tis the season, full of wonder and light.

But then I got older, as everyone does. It’s gruelling and painful but, alas, unavoidable - it’s a race we all lose, a monster that no one can hide from. You grow up and the Christmas season inevitably loses some of that sparkle. Childhood notions of Father Christmas delivering gifts on the eve morphs into an overflowing basket as you shop for presents, followed by nights of wrapping that leave you trapped in webs of sellotape and ribbon that, come the big day, you will eagerly and attentively collect as the younger ones frantically unwrap their hidden treasures. I’m not quite sure when it happened, but I’m not one of those kids anymore, no longer a younger one rockin’ around the tree. Little things starts to change, slowly at first, so you barely notice, until you look around on Christmas eve and realise, you’re just not that excited. Don’t get me wrong, I still love Christmas, it will always be my favourite holiday I think, but I don’t love it the way I used to. I don’t lay awake on the night before, willing for midnight to arrive. These days, I don’t even wish for snow.

‘The magical dust of Christmas glittered on the cheeks of humanity ever so briefly…’

I am only twenty and so childhood was not too long ago, when I was still a little girl excited on Christmas day. And yet, already, I can feel it becoming more and more difficult every year to remind myself that it is not just another month in the calendar year. Something that used to come so naturally now takes a bit more thought, a bit more active effort. In hopes of compensating for this emotional decline, I make sure to watch all the seasonal films and go to the markets and see the lights and the decorated trees scattered about London – if I’m really desperate, I will even face the crowds of Hyde Park’s Winter Wonderland. I seek out these things for all December in hopes that, along the way, I might find the festive spirit too. But I miss how easy it all once was, not too long ago, back when the spirit and joy used to find me, when I would bump into it blind.

For these last two years specifically, the holidays have been accompanied by omnipresent academic stress. Yes, I get a break from university over Christmas, this essay would be a lot longer if I didn’t, but that break is not without the shadow of January exams around the corner, casting a dullness over me and the whole Christmas season. As much as I try to relax, I know that I will return to an overwhelming university schedule and assignments that will dictate my academic future. It’s exhausting, daunting, and impossible to ignore. No amount of Christmas lights or songs or cookies can make me forget and so, naturally, getting into the spirit of the season is ever so slightly more difficult than before. My festive attempts continue to be tainted with the memory of my other life – my student life: one full of lectures and headaches and poor time management. Thankfully, this is only a temporary situation, an issue that will resolve itself upon my graduation. Until then, I guess I will just study and try to compartmentalise as best I can. But, secretly, all I really want for Christmas is a first in my exam.

The one not so bad thing about studying during the Christmas season, a lot of libraries have beautiful decorations.

For all of my childhood years, I was told to ‘cherish these years while I still have them.’ I was so sure that I would grow up to disagree, and I do, for the most part. I hate to admit it, but the pestering adults weren’t all wrong in their didactic monologues – the holidays will never be quite the same. It’s just something you accept, the clandestine detail tucked away in the terms and conditions of the adulthood trade off. You get all the agency and frivolities of being a proper grown up and, in return, a few things are just a bit less special. That being said, I wouldn’t go back. Christmas is different now, as is much of life when time passes by, but that’s okay. You accept it, or just get over it, whatever works best for you, but you can’t let yourself be consumed by nostalgia, at least not this young – I can save that for my thirties.

oh, and merry christmas!