Ananda

Dear Diary Santa,
 
I don’t know what I want for Christmas this year. Material things, while totally grand and all, are not enough; they’re not important. Maybe I just don’t want Christmas to come at all, and we can live in this state of wonder and excitement for eternity, because once Christmas Day arrives, it’s all slightly upsetting. And then there will be the days that follow Christmas, and they will be ruined by this big nothingness looming overhead.
 
What do I want for Christmas? I want love and I want to be loved, I want laughter, so much laughter. But, most of all, I’m thinking about what I don’t want, and that’s the pain and the panic. But you never bring me what I want, do you, Santa? I want to be with my friends and I want to sing. I want to scream, not with anger, but because I can’t contain such joy. I want to wish on a star, and for that wish to do what it always promises.
 
Now, you’re reading this on Christmas Eve, probably, and I want to tell you that, while it’s hard, I will leave all of my angst under my pillow when I wake up on Christmas Day. I’ll rush into my parents’ room, just like I have every year since I was a little girl. We’ll sit around with the cats, and Mum will make coffee. I’ll open my stocking, and then go downstairs to get one present from Mum and one from Dad. We’ll eat insane amounts, drink until we’re utterly jolly…and we shall watch incredibly bad television. And I will love and I will be loved, and there will be laughter, oh so much laughter.
 
(Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope that whether you celebrate the holiday or not, your day is so very merry indeed.) ♦