Chinese don’t have Christmas. So when I came to America in 2000 I didn’t know what was Christmas about. But having married into a big Caucasian family, soon I learned it is a time that you bring a live tree to your house, hang all kinds of strange stuff on the street, shop like a maniac to everyone you know, even the cousins you hate, and then give useless gifts to each other until everyone goes broke. And then the fake snowflakes, Santa stocking, jiggle bells, Christmas carol, retail sales etc…and then the next year same thing all over again.
But I loved it. I’d never push away any kind of family activities because I didn’t have much when I grew up. So I put all my heart into shopping for everyone, my husband, my father-in-law, mother-in-law, grandparents-in-law, etc. I immersed myself into that jiggle-bell music, that cake-eating and then gift-changing ritual every Christmas morning. I don’t have a loving Chinese family, but at least I had one in America.
Until I moved out of the house a month before Christmas of 2007, like a broken doll that had just realized her whole marriage was coming to an end. It is needless to say how painful it was. But the thing I was feared the most at that time was—how I was going to endure Thanksgiving, Christmas now on? How am I going to escape this thing called Christmas pandemic as long as I live?
So I made a simple decision to travel on holidays. That way I don’t have to do, see, and think anything. I spent the Christmas day of 2007 on a boat sailing to an unknown island in Puerto Rico for snorkeling. Unlimited rum punches served by the local guides on the “Island Flyer” boat helped me forget the life back in America. I roamed on the soft sanded beach under the crystal blue sky with my ipod, dancing to my Hanken Lee Chinese music. And that night a local guy named Rico took me to a real local fish restaurant and then showed me the prettiest night scene of Puerto Rico from the highest point on a hill.
The next year I went to Turks and Caicos. I slept for sixteen hours straight the first day. And then read my Chinese books at the beach with rum punches. The next day I dived deep down to the ocean for couch-picking. Christmas and the cold? Not a trace on my mind at that time.
So the Christmas of the final year of the 21st century was about to come. My mind refused to think about family gathering, so weeks ago I started to search for vacation spot. The Bahamas? Sounds wonderful but do I want to spend time with flocks of noisy tourists? The Caribbean? Is it worth it to spend thousands of dollars for the escape?
I searched and searched, and couldn’t decide where to go or whether I should go away. As the holiday came near, I started to ask myself why I cannot just stay in America for Christmas just like many Jewish people do every year. My ex-husband cannot hurt my heart any more, the memory of happy family is long gone, I claim myself as a confident woman, why cannot I be happy being alone? Why am I not ready for a solitary Christmas?
Up until the night before Christmas Eve, I was still searching online for going away. And on the morning of Christmas Eve, I finally gave up. I went to work as usual and stayed to 4pm in the office. I was the only one in the building during the entire afternoon I bet. On the way home I stopped in an Ann Taylor store. I avoided any kind of shopping before that. I was happy to see the shop was pretty empty at that hour. I bought myself a necklace. Then I came home and made myself some dumplings. I ate them while watching TV. Then I sat on bed and read my Chinese kung-fu novels.
So this is my solitary Christmas. I didn’t have a tree, didn’t do any shopping or wrapping, didn’t send cards, didn’t overeat, didn’t go to any gathering.
It’s great to know that I am fine being alone in America.