Ive always loved Christmas. It gives me this tingly excited feeling whenever its near. But most of my Christmases, minus one, has been spent in a predominantly Muslim desert. Christmas is celebrated, but it never feels like Christmas.
Three days ago, I felt Christmas. The way its supposed to be felt. Excitement and goodwill spreading everywhere, starting from your toes. That invincible feeling, of this year being "the" year, where everything will be colorful and right and…fit.
Id spent the evening mourning my first job rejection. Multitasking in talking to MommyMathews, gulping tea desperately and snuggling into the S.O’s arms while he told me not to cry in uncharacteristic gentleness. My drained and red depression, meant I could ask for anything at that moment, and get it. So when I said haltingly, "I want Starbucks", the cold and the fact that it was closing in less than an hour was rendered insignificant.
People who know me long and well enough, know that Starbucks has always been my home away from home, since I was 15-something. It has never, however, been more like home, than on that Thursday evening.
We sat, the S.O, his best friend and I, clutching our giant mugfuls of gingerbread and toffee nut, dunking caramel waffles. We hummed along to Christmas carols, that unfolded beautifully from our favorite memories. We stared out of the window, tracing twinkly lights, trees and giant papier mache snowflakes strung from the sky with our eyes and inhaling that definitive Christmas smell, of pine and warm brews.
"NOW it feels like Christmas", said the S.O
"Falalala. Lalalala", said the best friend of the S.O
And I smiled my first willing smile of the day.
Christmas is here. And for the first time, I can feel it.
In my blood, in my toes, in my everywhere.
All I want for Christmas is nothing else, but for this feeling to stay.