While the wintery hymns embrace me in nostalgia, I’m thinking of myself sitting in a kindergarten classroom some sixteen years ago, furnished with the old sleigh-style wooden desks. I could hear the tuneful voices high and sweet, reaching out across the airwaves echoing brightly from the school chapel of vaulted ceilings and flickering candles. Around this time a Catholic teacher handed me a book that spoke of you. She spoke of you as a joyous white-bearded man with a round belly who drops off joy to everyone in all lands. She told me you make wishes come true.
For as long as I could remember, I used to fantasize about the idea of you. I used to read about you and your reindeers and elves. My favorite was Rudolph because he was different from all the other reindeers, curious and mischievous. I loved how his bright red nose helped you navigate the skies in his big sleigh. It somehow indicated that being different could be the light that shines across someone’s path.
You were hands down one of the best things about my childhood. You were the grandfather I never had. You were brave, smart, kind, and selfless – every quality that we all should emulate. You made my Christmas exciting, got me presents even when I wasn’t the nicest of kids.
This Christmas, come home Santa. Now that I’m an adult, let’s talk. I’ve been wondering how you’ve been. It’s been a while now, old friend.
Come home and I’ll make you a glass of creamy eggnog. We will sit by the fireplace on the white carpet, warming our hands and feet. Reminisce with me over the stars that were born, the stories that were old, the tales that were told. You can tell me how the reindeers are stubborn, how the chimneys are dusty, the roofs sloppy. Maybe you can fix the star on my Christmas tree while we listen to carols and munch on cookies and candies, it’s already too sweet for me anyway.
This Christmas, come home. I’ll be your friend. It’s a big old world and it gets lonely sometimes, I know.
As we grow up, we start to think and formulate our own opinions about things. But, growing up also taught me that we can sometimes believe in things that are logically not comprehensible. Because believing in something is beautiful. It gives us hope and the strength to grow. To believe in something as magical as you, Santa, gives purpose to an otherwise mundane existence. So, I’m betting on you to exist, old man. Even if it’s only in my imagination.
The girl who grew up.
Note : The magic of Christmas shows when people believe. I’m not saying to believe in Santa (you can if you want though). I want you to believe in yourself. Believe your instincts and perspectives. Because without beliefs, all the goodness of this world will be lost. Even though I don’t believe in Santa climbing down the chimney with gifts, but I do believe in other intangible things. I believe that good things happen to those who wait, who deserve. Life is not always cruel and one day you will be rewarded. Something amazing is out there for every one of us – we just have to find it.