Skip to main content

A Promise for Christmas

 



In a city where Christmas was not just a season but a vibrant spectacle, I grew up as a wide-eyed girl with dreams as big as the festive decorations that adorned our neighbor's homes. The streets glittered with twinkling lights, and the air was thick with the fragrance of plum cakes, a sweet promise of holiday joy.


My family wasn't rich, and though love filled our home, financial struggles cast a shadow over our ability to partake in the extravagant celebrations around us. Each year, as Christmas approached, I would gaze longingly at the festive storefronts and imagine the warmth that a Christmas tree, a crib, and hanging stars would bring to our home.


"Mom, Dad, can we please buy a Christmas tree this year?" I would ask, hope and longing woven into my voice.


My parents, their eyes filled with love but burdened by the weight of our circumstances, would reply with a gentle, "Sweetheart, we're tight on money this year. But we have each other, and that's the most important thing."


Yet, the desire to bring the magic of Christmas to our humble home burned fiercely within me. Undeterred by financial constraints, I devised a plan to infuse our small space with the enchantment of the season.


When school closed for the holidays, and the laughter of my classmates faded away, I lingered behind. I collected the discarded decorations from the Christmas tree in our classroom. These forgotten remnants of joy, left behind by others, became the treasures that adorned our home. I weaved dreams from the remnants of others' celebrations, creating a patchwork of joy that illuminated our modest living room.


Years swept by like the pages of a well-worn storybook, and the little girl who once sought magic in used decorations grew into a young woman. Through hard work and resilience, I secured a place of my own—a house where dreams found a home and nostalgia lingered in the air like a familiar melody. I am still not rich, still have financial struggles of a middle class family, but now I love to celebrate every day and every moments of life. 


One Christmas Eve, as I sat in my own cozy living room surrounded by the glow of fairy lights and the comforting presence of a Christmas tree, I stumbled upon a weathered piece of paper. Unfolding it gently, I found a note I had written as a child.


"Dear Santa, I will achieve whatever I dreamed of. I will buy a house and decorate it for every Christmas. It's my promise."


Folding the paper with a smile, I heard the distant sound of carolers approaching. Opening the door, I welcomed them into my festive haven, where the air was thick with the spirit of giving.


As the carolers prepared to leave, I noticed a figure in a Santa Claus suit turning back to glance at me. The real Santa, with a twinkle in his eye, said, 'Thank you for gifting me a happy promise.'


In that moment, I realized that the true magic of Christmas wasn't in the grandeur of decorations or the extravagance of gifts but in the enduring spirit of a promise kept, and the happiness shared from one heart to another.


And so, in my little corner of the world, a promise made by a 12-year-old girl continued to bloom, like a cherished Christmas rose, year after year. May your holidays be filled with the magic of promises kept and dreams fulfilled.


Labels:
Location: MM89+VX7, Mevada, Meenachil part, Kerala 686573, India

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

When Cinema Dares to Challenge Power

A film is meant to be an artistic expression, a reflection of society, and sometimes, a bold mirror held up to power. Empuraan , the much-anticipated sequel to Lucifer , has not just continued the story of Khureshi Ab’raam alias Stephen Nedumpally but has ignited a larger debate. Beyond its grand cinematic experience, the film has managed to disturb certain factions, not because it tells lies, but because it dares to tell uncomfortable truths. The Fear of Truth? From its very first frames, Empuraan establishes itself as more than just a political thriller—it’s a commentary on power, corruption, and manipulation. It presents riots, political conspiracies, and systemic control not as religious conflicts but as carefully orchestrated power plays. Remember what mausi said in the movie? When a film brings up the Gujarat Riots, for example, why does it cause an uproar? What is there to hide? The fear is not about what is being said but about the possibility that people might sta...
Post a Comment
Read more

How to Make the Most of Your Sunday

  As a student, Sunday often feels like a bittersweet transition from the freedom of the weekend to the responsibilities of the week. It's the day that marks the beginning of the end, where the thought of assignments, projects, exams, and the endless stream of tasks seems to hover in the air. It's not uncommon to feel the dread creeping in – that mixture of anticipation and anxiety as Monday looms closer. But what if I told you that Sunday could be the secret ingredient to having a successful and stress-free week? The challenge isn't unique to students. As a corporate employee, my Sundays became a different kind of challenge. The relaxed feeling of the weekend is often overshadowed by the anxiety of the upcoming workweek. It is seen that employees have constant pressure of meetings, deadlines, and an overflowing inbox waiting to be tackled. For employees, Sundays become a battleground of balancing relaxation and preparing for another hectic Monday. Now, as a woman managing ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Name the Pain

  They came with laughter in their hands, With hearts like lanterns, glowing bright, To carve a moment out of time, Beneath the stars, beneath the light.   A mother’s prayer, a lover’s gaze, A child’s delight in winding roads, A dreamer’s pause where silence sang— All scattered now like fallen oaths.   A ring still warm upon a hand, A father’s hand, now cold, let go— Life torn away, so sudden, stark, Mid-laughter’s rise, mid-lover’s kiss.   What law of man, what claim to cause, Can stand where joy was laid so bare?  What twisted creed could sanctify The breaking of a breath so fair?   No faith commands this kind of fire, No flag flies high on bloodied peace This isn't faith, this isn’t right— No God would bless this kind of fight. So mourn we must, for lives now gone, But vow we shall, with burning cry: That never shall such horror reign, These tears will cost you far.   This terror has a name, a ...
Post a Comment
Read more