5 days to christmas – swans a-swimming

Written by: Oon Jie Rong (23-I1)

Designed by: Ng Le Kang (23-I2)

A Christmas Story

I

Outside, the church bells tolled, echoing down the cobblestone pavers draped in a layer of fresh snow.

Winter had come, and so did the holiday season. Gift giving, merry making, Christmas carolling, the works. 

I caught myself staring out the window again. 

It’s difficult to ignore the joy of the season, with families coming together to celebrate themselves and spending time together, not to mention the ceaseless array of christmas-themed advertisements and products lining store shelves.

My family didn’t really celebrate… Christmas. We indulged in the festivities and joy, but more because it was a way to celebrate surviving another year, rather than any sort of Christmas “spirit”.

And this… this was a rough year.

I closed my eyes, taking a sip of the rapidly-cooling hot chocolate in my hands.

University was a new chapter in my life, and it certainly had its ups and downs. Since junior college, I always wanted to travel overseas for university. Singapore was my home, but it always felt stuffy and uninteresting. I spent most of my life in Singapore, and the idea of studying abroad was glamorous. 

And so, given the opportunity for a scholarship at the prestigious ETH Zurich, who was I to say no to such an offer?

But now, looking out at the workers stringing Christmas lights in the cold, I couldn’t help but wonder how cold it must feel out there. My hands tightened around my now lukewarm chocolate. I could hardly believe that it’s almost been a year since I arrived here… yet I’ve never felt so alone.

Maybe it was relative: everybody around me had family to spend time with, or family to call and enjoy the season with. 

I certainly couldn’t.

Maybe it was homesickness: I started missing the tropical climate of Singapore now, and the warmth had never felt so welcoming in the cold.

I finished the rest of my chocolate, and put my jacket on. I needed a change of pace.

II

It had been a year, but I still felt so foreign here. I knew German, French, and even a little Italian, and I could speak and hold a conversation with most people here, but… I didn’t fit in anywhere. I didn’t have anyone to talk to, to confide in, and it all felt so lonely. I was the only Singaporean in my course, but I had friends (both here and back in Singapore). 

Yet… everyone was busy now: work, school, family, everyone had an excuse to pay attention to their own lives.

My footsteps left cartoonishly perfect tracks in the fresh snow, pristinely preserved for a short instance in time, before another layer came to blanket the street again.

Even if I did go back home, who would I even stay with? My parents certainly didn’t want to see me, and I couldn’t push that burden onto my friends. Not at this time of year.

The wind began to tug at my scarf, threatening to relieve me of the warmth I had so carefully accumulated in the cafe. Tightening it, I continued to walk against the howling wind, snowflakes assaulting my winter coat. The street was empty now, with unlit Christmas lights hanging from streetlamp to streetlamp, it only felt more and more desolate as I walked towards a cross-junction. Even the roads were devoid of cars, everybody else having huddled indoors to avoid the cold.

I chuckled to myself. “Seems like all of Switzerland fears the cold.” I muttered, knowing full well that I did too.

III

Soon, I found myself standing on the outskirts of town, where old, 16th century shophouses slowly transformed into even older farmhouses, surrounded by snow-covered pastures.

Was this really how I was going to spend Christmas?

I couldn’t shake the thought from my head; it sat there, an island of my insecurities manifested, standing alone in the endless stream of thoughts of my mind.

The wind continued to pull away at my precious warmth, and I tucked my hands into my coat pockets, to make a futile attempt to retain the rest of the heat in my fingertips. I was tired of walking.“I’m going to find a place to sit. If I’m going to wallow in melancholy sorrows, the least I could do is to be efficient about it.” I said to myself.

Taking a left turn, a few minutes of walking brought me to a quaint park, with a quiet lake at its centre. “How picturesque,” I thought to myself, “it would be nice if it wasn’t so bloody cold.” Spotting a wooden bench facing the lake’s centre, I knew it was sufficient for my needs: sombrely staring off into the distance, contemplating what to do for Christmas.

Placing my weight on the wooden bench, I heard it creak and groan as if it too was annoyed by my presence, the world giving me a sign of my unwantedness here. Regardless, I waited.

What I was waiting for? I couldn’t quite tell you either. It was just… something. A sign. Of anything, really. It was hard to keep my eyes open in the torrent of snow which assaulted my senses, but I suddenly noticed movement in the periphery of my vision. I shielded my eyes from the snow, attempting to take a closer look; and there it was.

As white as the snow, with the grace of a trained dancer; a swan floated on the water’s edge.

“In this weather? Really?” I lamented. “It shouldn’t have to be out here, stuck in the cold.” For a second, I felt a kinship with it: it too, was here, unwelcomed in the environment it found itself in – merely observers in the society we were supposed to be a part of. The doors of the nearby farmhouses were all shut and locked, barring it from receiving even the littlest warmth. I couldn’t help but pity it.

A voice from behind startled me.

IV

“Ehi, cosa fai al freddo?”

I spun around, nearly falling off the bench in the process. An elderly gentleman looked back at me with furrowed brows, concern clearly written on his (partially snow-covered) face.

“Ahh, uhm,” I nervously tried to invoke what little broken Italian I knew to explain myself. “Stu… no, wait… St-sto ripo–”

“Do you speak English, young man?”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yes, I- sorry, I’m just… resting here.” Having sufficiently embarrassed myself with my pitiful attempt at Italian, I was more than glad that he could speak English. Looking away in a mixture of shame and embarrassment, I heard the creak of the wooden bench again – the old man must have sat down alongside me.

“Really? In the cold?” He asked, looking towards the lake.

“Yeah.”

“It’s Christmas time. Don’t you have anyone to spend it with?”

I closed my eyes – why’d he have to ask that exact question?

“No. I mean– I don’t.”

“No family?”

“None.”

“Friends?”

“Nope. Not at this time of year.”

I heard him sigh. 

“Are you from here?”

I opened my eyes, and looked up.

“No.”

“Where are you from?”

“Asia. Singapore.”

“How old are you, young man?”

“21. It’s my first year here.”

“Ah. University then?”

“Yeah. ETH.”

The old man crossed his legs. “Tell me then, young one, why leave?”

Why leave? That wasn’t what I expected. “I… I needed to leave. I needed to get out.”

“Do you like it here then?”

“I…” My answer got caught in my throat. I didn’t know what to say. “I-I… Not right now.”

“It’s not easy being homesick.” He stood up, dusting off snow from his coat. “Especially at this time of year.”

“Yeah.”

“But it’ll come to pass.” He picked up a pebble off the ground.

“Will it?” I looked up at him now, careful to shield my eyes from the buffets of snow which pelted my face. He palmed the tiny stone in his hand, before stretching his arm backwards, as if to skip it across the partially frozen lake. I now noticed his long white beard, although it reasonably could have been due to the snow covering his beard in a coat of white.

“All things do.” As he arched his arm, aiming at the still water of the lake, he suddenly stopped. He dropped his arm, and with the other, pointed towards the lake again. I turned my head to look. “Look there young one, you see that swan?”

I saw it now, swimming towards the lake centre. “Yeah.”

“It too, is a migrant like you.”

I closed my eyes in disbelief. “Really?”

“Swans can be migratory too. But this one – this one came here a few years back.” The old man looked at the stone in his hand. “And he didn’t find it easy either.”

“Why?” The swan began swimming towards the opposite side of the lake.

“He stole food from the farmhouses – and in reprisal, the farmers tried to chase him away,” He threw the stone up in the air, catching it in the same hand. “Some even tried to throw stones at him.”

“Oh dear.” I now realised that my pity for it was more than justified.

“Yet, he stayed.” The old man dropped the stone, letting it softly thud against the snow-covered ground. “And it took a while, but we got used to it.”

The swan began to swim back towards our side of the lake.

“He took a while too. He was wary of us – justified, after a rather unfriendly welcome – but he eventually came around. We feed him during the winter months now – it gets more than enough from the grassy fields during summer and spring.” As if on cue, the snowy tirade began to calm down.

“It’s never easy,” He began, “and it always stings. They say longing has a favourite season, and it’s winter.” The sun began to emerge from behind the mountains as the clouds began to clear up. Sunrays started to illuminate the park.

“It takes time,” He continued, “but it also takes effort.”

I looked down at my snow-covered shoes. “I guess it does. But I don’t really have anyone. I can’t really relate to anybody here. Everyone’s busy with their own family now.”

An audible pause. I glanced up at him, and saw hesitation.

I heard him mutter. 

“Lo sforzo è una strada a doppio senso.”

He turned.

“I suppose… if you don’t have anywhere else to go, my family always has a spare seat at our table.” He smiled. “We wouldn’t want anyone to be alone during Christmas either.”

I considered the offer.

“If it’s not too much trouble…”

He tutted.

 “Of course not child, it would be our pleasure.”

I glanced back at the swan on the lake, who was now basking in the warmth of the sunbeams reflecting off the lake surface, then back at him. I wanted to say something more – but the words wouldn’t come to me as I choked with emotion.

“Thank you.”