When the festivities died down...
First post for the new year! Happy 2026.
I really don’t want to attract negativity because I’m trying to graduate this year, and I’m pushing myself hard now. I’m so tired of my academics, and all I want is to just finish and start earning—for both my life and this family’s messed-up money problems.
Story time:
When I was little, I used to love the festivities. Christmas was my favorite time of the year, all the way up until New Year’s Eve. It meant everything to me. The craziest part? I believed in Santa—I think until I was 13 years old. When I finally found out it was just my mom and dad trying to make every kid’s wish list come true, I was stunned. That year, when I asked for something harder, they sat me and my little sister down and said, “Surprise! We’re Santa!”
At first, I was devastated—holy shit, not my dreams haha. Then I realized I was too old for it, so I said, okay, this has to stop. I remember that year I asked for an iPhone, and yup… that wasn’t really going to happen.
Years went by, and I stopped being festive because I lost my little sister between the ages of 16–17. We didn’t know how to celebrate Christmas anymore—the one who was supposed to play Santa was gone. How do you even get through that?
Then, when I was 18–19, my parents tried for one last baby because the grief of losing a child is the toughest to endure. Four years later, we had someone new to play the role of Santa again, and it was magic watching her reaction this year.
But when I say the festivities died down, I mean I stopped being the festive one. Honestly, once you hit your early 20s, it just… stops. I still cooperate, smile for every photo and group picture, try to be optimistic—but I’ve grown tired of it. Yeah, that sucks, especially because my second sister—the “cooker” of the family for the holidays—is still the optimistic, festive one who wants everything perfect. She was the organizer this year.
So yeah… when it all dies down, life just moves on.