I have repeated childhood Christmas memories. Every single year.
Growing up, Christmas was all about getting ready in the morning, all dressed up, to spend the day at one cousin’s home with the whole extended family. Every single year.
It was a day filled with hugs, a delicious meals (my aunt was an amazing cook), a gorgeous Christmas tree, games with my cousins, kue salju, exchanging and getting gifts. Every single year.
It also meant driving back home with my parents while feeling sleepy, exhausted from all the playing and overeating sugary food. Every single year.My Christmas memories are the love-filled heart and happy memories filled day. Every single year.
I also have random bits and pieces of these Christmas memories.
Of my aunt giving us second serving and of uncle’s prayers. Of me being awkward teenagers, hanging out with my cousins in the garage, sparkly Christmas ornaments, talking about boys in discreet voices in the bedroom, wearing a red top and bell-bottom jeans.
Unfortunately, ever since I moved away from Jakarta, I have skipped on reliving these memories for some years. I can only hope that the kid and awkward teenage me had shown appreciation for it as much as the adult me treasured these Christmas memories.