(Hah! And it was just a typo to start with! 🙂
The joy of not hearing that song in every shop and every radio channel! But these days, even if you come all the way to Yangon, you are not one hundred percent safe from the assault on your senses and sanity. )
All the pity I’ve been getting over the years about not going ”home for Christmas”…. when there are much worse things, and much worse times to be far away from friends and family.
Christmas has been putting way too much burden on us, and yes, in many ways we have crippled ourselves with broken expectations. Shards of shattered memories prick my bare feet, just like stray pine needles all the way in July. Tread carefully, dreams are buried here. (And lots of other bullshit.)
And then you are relieved to get away, and again, do it your way, find your own rituals, find your own meaning. Nothing is served up on a silver platter. No more ready-made answers, one size fits all, jingle bells and angel wings and purple candles and scent of pine. Momentary relief.
But you still see the bells and candles and even the pines, up in the hills near the king’s garden. Nothing can turn memories on and off like scents. So easy to pull strings, no matter what the determination. Pathetic.
But then, of course, Christmas season means the rose garden is in full bloom, too. And thus the balance is restored. It’s not all just echoes. There is a way.
And then also there are the candles. Same same but different. There you go.
And then you realise that not doing anything also means doing something, relating to this whole damn thing one way or another. There is just no getting away.