Christmas Isn’t Christmas Anymore

Growing up, my Christmases were the perfect Hallmark postcard of what this holiday should look like. I lived in Finland, so cold weather and snow were common. It's all dark nights with Christmas lights and candles, and sitting indoors with thick woolen socks and warm drinks in our hands to ward off the subzero temperatures outside.

In my family, we surrounded ourselves with even more snow. My grandpa loved skiing, so he’d move a couple hundred miles away from our town in the winters, just to be able to ski everyday. My mom would take us there on Christmas, to take advantage of the few days a year she was able to take off from managing her small business.

It was great. I learned to ski at seven, and ever since then, I followed my grandpa around. He was a great at this sport, and I was the only one able to keep his pace. The only one crazy enough to even try. Those were our best moments together, and I consider myself lucky to have formed a special kind of bond with him over those days. My sisters and most of our cousins didn’t.

After a couple of hours of skiing, we’d head to the house to warm ourselves in the sauna. Every house has one in Finland, and it’s a Christmas tradition you just can’t live without. Then, we’d spend the rest of the evening eating my grandma’s traditional casseroles and rice-filled Carelian pies made out of rye flour, and playing board games into the night.

Now, I’m in Buenos Aires. I barely remember it’s Christmas anymore. It’s summer, and usually very hot, and I spend most of it in a pool. It’s just another day off, only better. You can never really go back to those childhood Christmases, so I prefer not even thinking it's the same holiday as the one I used to know.

I used to force myself to be with other people on Christmas, to spend it with someone else’s family. There was always someone inviting me over with a sad look in their eyes, thinking I was suffering alone.

What really made me like Christmas again was when I stopped making plans and started spending it all by myself. 2019 was the first time I was alone, and it was the best decision I ever made. I went to the movies first, enjoying the empty space in the theater. I hit the pool on the rooftop of my building when I got back, and had a lovely IPA while relaxing with a book. I bought all my favorite foods, from rosemary focaccia to grilled artichokes and chocolate ice cream, and washed them down with some champagne while watching Home Alone.

People think it’s sad that I’m alone on Christmas, but I swear I’m not. I love my own company, so much more than I like pretending to be comfortable with someone else’s family.

And Christmas just isn't Christmas anymore. My holiday involves my family, snow, board games, and my grandmother’s Carelian pies. It’s about spending time with my grandpa, who’s no longer around. Argentinian Christmas includes dinners that last until 3 am and parties that go on until 9 in the morning.

Finnish Christmases are cold, silent and slightly melancholy, while Argentinian Christmases are extreme heat, barbecues, fireworks and good times. It’s great, but it’s not the same thing.

There’s one thing that still sets Christmas apart from other holidays in Buenos Aires for me. It’s nearly the only day of the year when I can wake up early and walk around the city when it’s all empty. I can take my bike, go to the river and breathe in the air when it’s fresh, still without the smog and the heat.

It’s not skiing with my grandpa, but it’s nice.

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This story was originally published in a slightly different version by me, on Medium.