A house with a room full of stuff ready to go in the bin, a pool just for the family, and gifts that took hours to unwrap for a toddler. I remembered that Christmas. Somehow I ended up starring in this show I didn’t even realise I was part of. I just had to smile and play.
Being part of a network I wasn’t familiar with… impressive? Exhausting? Both. The pressure to fit in, measure up, perform. It stayed with me long after the last gift was unwrapped.
Years later came a different kind of awkwardness. I spent Christmas with an organisation that fixed bicycles and prepared meals for people without family, usually short on money too. The house was old, in a quieter, poorer suburb. Cheap food, cheap gifts, yet everyone gave what they could. Generous people. And me, still feeling like an outsider.
Really, you can’t hand out belonging, and sometimes it never comes.
Now, back in Taiwan, Christmas is… different. Finally, I could just be an audience. A church perched on top of a shopping mall, with an enormous stage, massive sound system, packed with people. Hands raised, singing, lights flashing, spectacular, really. I was entertained. And quietly glad to just watch. It’s okay not to be part of it. I can rest. I can notice the world without having to do anything.
Twenty years. Half a world later. And I’m still figuring out where I can breathe, properly and effortlessly. That, I realise, is the gift this season gives me, I guess.
Merry Christmas to me, merry Christmas to you.
