I didn't always used to be this way. I used to look forward to the holidays, I used to be so excited for time out of school to go home and get presents, go to parties, dress nicely, etc.
Well, this year I took out extra shifts at work until closing night at the library because I didn't want to go home.
The holidays aren't fun anymore. It's just a lie. I can't be the happiest I want to be, but I can't be moping around either because everyone else around me is so happy.
Why don't I have any holiday spirit?
Because something terrible happened on the morning after Christmas, several years ago.
I'm sure that some of you know (or will remember) what I'm about to tell you. And I know that it happened years ago, but that still doesn't change anything. It changed everything permanently. I will never forget this.
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My brother and I were huddled up in our parents' bedroom, snug in our sleeping bags. I was dragged slowly (yet suddenly) out of my sleep by some sort of ... shrieking. Was I still dreaming? (No.) I burrowed deeper into my sleeping bag, and opened my eyes. The shrieking didn't stop. It sounded almost crazy; I couldn't tell whether it was laughter or crying, but the feeling in my gut could.
Rapid footsteps pounded up the stairs. I closed my eyes, hoping I was still dreaming. Please, let me still be dreaming. A strong hand shook me. Someone lifted the cover off of my face, and the bright light was blocked by a pair of severely bloodshot eyes.
"Wake up. Wake up, something has happened. Your grandmother is dead. Come downstairs."
My dad left to go back downstairs, probably to comfort my hysterical mother. Is this really happening? (Yes.) I trudged warily downstairs, afraid of what I might see. The television was on. All I saw was water. Brown water, sweeping away hundreds of brown people. CNN. Large numbers. The death tolls. Tsunami.
So this is how it happened. This is how she died. Of course. My mother's family lives on a beach. How perfect.
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Somehow, it had leaked to the media that we had lost someone in this tsunami. Before we knew it, we had reporters from NBC nightly news and the local news channels all ringing our doorbells, asking my poor mother for interviews. I even got an interview from Fox. (Haha, Fox.) Newspapers as well asked for interviews. We just got tired of them after a while.
We were fortunate, because we only lost one. Everyone who had been in that new, sturdy house was fine. The only reason my grandmother died was because she was out near the beach, visiting the fish market. She had been washed away and wasn't recovered until many hours later. My cousins had traveled all over the country (Sri Lanka is about the size of West Virginia), looking for her. Surprisingly enough, they did find her.
That year, after school had finished, my family and I went to Sri Lanka for a long overdue visit and to see if we could help out. I wanted nothing to do with it. It was too much. Everything I had remembered was destroyed, warped out of shape, or broken. The people who had moved into my mother's family's old house had perished. So many had perished. Too many had perished. The beaches were empty, as they had now become taboo. Almost everything resembled a slum. People were living out of tents. My cousins spoke of how Bill Clinton had recently visited and donated a lot of stuff and a lot of help. I was still terrified.
While looking for something, I had stumbled across an overturned photograph. I slowly flipped it over--it was my grandmother, amongst a pile of bodies. A trail of splattered blood wound across her bright blue patterned sari. My breath caught in my throat as I blinked back tears. That is an image that no fifteen year old should ever have to see.
To this day, I haven't been to Sri Lanka since then. I am still afraid of what I might see.
Every holiday break since then has been marred. Last year, we didn't even put up the tree. How can we? We can't celebrate during this time. I can't truly be happy because no one else is; it is just a memory of all of the terrible things that happened. However, my all-too-normal and deflated demeanor isn't good enough for anyone else outside my family. Why so glum, it's the holidays!
Well, here's why I'm so glum.
Happy Holidays, everyone. I don't know if I'll update anytime from now until New Years, so if you don't read me until then, then I wish you all the best for the new year.
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