Lately I've been writing a lot more frequently than before, which is evidence that there's been a lot going through my mind. Apart from a couple of close friends I hold dear and my family members, I don't really talk much about my feelings or initiate a discussion unless it's about something my own perception is inadequate to make sense of. Other than that, I find a quiet and passive sense of comfort in putting my feelings into words on a new draft or on the blank pages of my diary. I am able to make the intangible, insecure and formless ideas and thoughts in my mind into something visible and real, as if I've broken a sort of spell that binds me in an internal chaos.
It's close approaching my favourite time of the year. It's the onset of autumn, and the nearing of Christmas. My eyes linger on pictures of the autumn scenery elsewhere as I scroll through Instagram, fervently wishing I could see them for myself soon. Streets in town and shopping malls start to put out those Christmas lights and decorations that illuminate the night, creating such a gentle and warm atmosphere. I like to gaze at the golden-yellow lights that line the roofs of a mall my family car often drives past. I've always looked forward to this time of the year - it's such a fitting way to decelerate and end another year's worth of experiences both good and bad.
Even though these are festive periods I always look forward to, it's this time of the year that melancholy hits me hardest as I reflect on what has happened in the passing year. As I admire the red, orange and yellow of autumn landscapes, there is a bittersweet pain inside as I give a long empty sigh at the fleeting beauty. When I walk past Christmas lights and decorations in the midst of crowds of friends, families, couples enjoying and immersing themselves in the mood, I smile to myself and think "How nice" and realise that I'm looking at a scene I secretly long to belong to.
I remember as a child, this time of the year signified something vastly different than what it is to me now. I had always looked forward to Christmas with innocent, simple yet overwhelming anticipation as every year I would run in my new dress with children my age during a game of catch, darting through the adults who would be standing around, eating and talking to one another. Sometimes I would be stopped by an aunt or uncle, older sister or brother midway through the chase to be presented with a small but neatly wrapped Christmas present and a pat on the head as I thanked them properly before running off again. Following that, us children would later be caught by our parents who brought us along from house to house as Christmas carols were sung, cake was served, and everyone had a great night.
When I look at how much my perception of this time of the year has changed, I realise how much time has passed, how much I've grown and how despite things seem different now, Christmas still retains its magical element for me inside. No matter how much I may change, or how much the world might change, there are still constants - and one of them would be this time of the year, every year.
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