Home for Christmas

As I sit in my childhood bedroom, indulge me in this little reverie about what it is to Go Home for Christmas.

Friends and family gathered, festive traditions upheld… These can be a heart-warming reassurance that life as you knew it before continues to roll on in much the same way. For some this can be a little depressing, especially if you discover, following an impassioned argument about the correct distribution of Christmas lights, that all those little frictions and traits are just as prevalent as they used to be. Maybe you haven’t Grown as a Person as much as you supposed. But that’s ok, no one ever does.  

Back in London, I feel a bit like a Ghost from my own Christmases Past, and memories which are usually misted by distance, come into sharp focus again. This can be good or bad, or a mixture of both. Whichever it is, there is no doubting its poignancy.

No matter how you feel about it, going home reminds you where you come from and can offer you a reaffirming sense of identity. Rigorous questioning from friends and relations can also provide you ample opportunity of coming up with a convincing illusion that you actually know what your plans are for the future.

It is great to be able to recharge the batteries and nestle into your comfort zone for a while, riffle indulgently through old photos and possessions and eat a more-than-excessive amount of home cooking, which is always the best.

All this equips you with renewed vigour to charge off again and continue your battle with the Spanish subjunctive, save starving children in Africa, or whatever it is you are doing when you are skipping.

Happy Christmas one and all!

Written by: Katie

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