I Hate It When People Write "Xmas"
But then again, I hate a lot of things about Christmas. What I hate most of all is how much luster it has lost for me over the last five years or so.
This is the definition of Nostalgia – it’s memory with a kick, sweetness with a bitter twist. The past is gone, the future’s not here, but neither really exists…only the present, which I didn’t ask for, but am forced to smile, nod, and show false happiness towards. I can’t be angry at generosity, but in reality I’m only good at deceiving myself; I’m fairly obvious to everyone else.
I remember one Christmas, I think it was in fifth grade. I got what seemed to be an infinite number of Nintendo games, but was really “only” three or four. And I played these games all day, and all Boxing Day, and pretty much all Winter Break – which, although only nine days, seemed four times as long. Now the holidays seem endless for entirely different reasons.
Lost in this shuffle is the point that concerns me more than anything material. Christmas used to be magical for me precisely because of one of its propelling myths — Santa Claus. Nowadays, when I help my Dad put my own presents under the tree, some of the magic’s gone. Yeah, it’s special in a different way. Yeah, some of this confusion and sadness stems from the middle space I’m taking up, straddling the River of Malcontentedness that separates the Isle of Idyllic Childhood, and that of Fruitful Adulthood.
But, speaking of metaphors, most of it comes from the fact that religion just doesn’t make sense to me anymore. I was in the passenger seat in the car as my father drove us to church. He’s contracted this habit of driving way to the right on any two-lane road, as far right (ironically, politics-wise) as he’s allowed to go, even entering the bike lane. I was slightly worried ’cause I’d never had so close a view of what seemed to be a telephone pole rampaging towards me. I mentioned this point, and my dad pretty rightly said, “Whoever makes these roads forces people to drive too close together.” It’s all convention how these roads are designed. Human beings decide who drives where.
Now for the metaphor: I saw the paint as the fine print of the religious rules – the literal guidelines of, let’s say, Catholicism, those that extend beyond the fundamental to keep people safe from the obstacles just off the beaten path.
I took some solace and responsibility in this humanistic empowerment, that the rules are made by man for his own safety (and manipulative control of others, sometimes) and well-being. Generally, they work, but they also have some give to them.
Then I realized what saddens me the most: Human beings also needed, imagined, designed, and fabricated the road itself.
Merry Xmas.
No Comments »