But alas, being an immigrant from a different culture makes me having to see everything in double. So that eventually we start celebrating the damn thing every year twice. So be it, since the child I’ve had a pair of christmases, and a pair of easters… what a glory! Ever-lasting beer-goggles that are made for kids only. Thanks Julius Caeser, I appreciate. Or shall I say, I appreciated before. Now, I’m happy at least a year is changing only once! I can avoid a week-long hang overs, because truly and honestly, the older I get the less and less I have left stamina for all this binge partying. Too much funny for a mummy. And, to skip even a single one party is out of the question, of course.
The double celebrations due to two different calendars, the old one and the new one, are actually little bit of a head-ache. Just when I thought get back in shape, I wake up to this frustrating day, the 7th of January, and my mom is literally making me taste and eat all sorts of don’t-even-remember-what foods with my eyes still being half closed. I haven’t woken up properly yet. Definitely not one of my best days. Maybe I woke up on a wrong side of my bed… or I am still dreaming. Actually maybe it’s just a lack of presents hence my annoyance — I got like, one, or two, this year. Okay, maybe two. This christmas was really like some Uni campus end of semester bash. So not calm, but so… loud. And so opposite of what I have imagined it to be this year.
If I was a Little Demi, I’d write the exact same letter Little Johnny wrote to this Santa, except I’d write to the one that hangs out in Lapland… oh Johnny you read my mind:
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