The 86 faces of Christmas

Written by: Jakin (25-I5)

Designed by: Elliot (25-U1)

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  Seated on a plush velvet chair, Jack took a sip of hot cocoa from a mug and watched the snow fall. The old grandfather clock inside read 11.49. 

  He had no idea how he’d feel when the clock struck midnight. Just last year, at this exact same time, he recalled feeling the most wonderful feeling of peace. The scene looked almost the same - heavy snowfall, fire crackling, hot cocoa. Most importantly, his wife was seated beside him, smiling radiantly as he reminisced. He enjoyed their Christmas Eve chats the most. 

There was a time back when joy was all he knew. Christmas was filled with lights, presents, feasts, and it was beautiful. It was his favourite day of the year, and he would sit patiently under the clock waiting for it to strike midnight. There was nothing that replicated the anticipation of delicately unwrapping each colourful  gift. He never thought once about the meaning of Christmas, because to him it just meant a wonderful time. It was sweet bliss. That’s all Christmas was to him - he knew of nothing else then.

With a smile, he recalled his increasing disappointment with the gifts he recieved as he entered his teens. Maybe he’d set the bar too high, or maybe the hue of his rose-tinted glasses were starting to fade. In his teens, Christmas was no longer the innocent, naive picture of exuberance he’d once felt. He went to the craziest parties in town with flashing lines and loud music, but it was never the same. The flavour of Christmas had evolved. 

His family’s financial difficulties meant an inability to grant his growing wishes. He could recall the sympathetic smile his father would give him when he saw the disappointment on his face.

What a plight, he’d thought then, melancholic that life had handed him such a crutch. Then, disappointing presents were the end of the world.

What a contrast it was from his 20th Christmas, when he thought his world would end. By this time, the illusion of a innocent and joyful world had disappeared. In the heat of war, how he longed for his teenage days of crappy gifts and ungratefulness.

The scene was forever etched in his mind. On that Christmas Day, he had shrunk himself into a fetal position, rocking back and forth as he muttered incoherent prayers. His hands were pressed onto both ears, and a cross was hung around his neck. The sound of gunfire, explosions and cries filled the air with paralyzing fear. He’d watched as his best friend was shot, a puddle of blood at his feet. 

He was deeply traumatized, and at that moment he cared about nothing more than life. All he’d wanted then was another minute, another chance at this life. A ferocious, numbing fear overwhelmed him, and prayer was all he could think to do. 

That afternoon, as he sat in the horrible trenches, he prayed that he wouldn’t give his family another reason to remember Christmas by. He prayed desperately for life. 

Just the next Christmas, he’d wished to die. On his 21st Christmas, he woke up sweating on his bed, panting and shaking. As with many nights, he’d dreamt of the most disturbing images of war. Blood. The most horrific injuries. His friend getting shot. The pills could never erase the horrors, and he was an absolute trainwreck. His room was in a mess; a reflection of the state he was in. Bottles and junk were strewn everywhere, and it stunk of liquor. He’d unsuccessfully tried to drink his pain away, and all it left him with was a deepening depression. 

His family had tried to help him, but they were losing faith. He could see it in their eyes when they looked at him. He didn’t blame them; he felt the same way. 

That morning, he’d summoned up enough strength to do something he hadn’t done in a year. He knelt on the ground, kept his head down, and prayed. He closed his eyes, and prayed for God to take him away as tears streamed down. The pain was unbearable.

It was then that the most inexplicable thing happened. A wave of perfect peace washed over his disturbed soul, and a sense of calmness filled him. He had looked up, slightly confused, and spotted the cross he’d hung around his neck last Christmas. Though he could never explain what happened, he knew that was the moment his life turned around. It had healed his spirit somehow, gave him strength to move forward. That moment was the greatest gift he’d ever recieved on Christmas Day.

The second greatest gift he’d recieved was meeting the person he sat with reminiscing, at church on his 24th Christmas. He could never have known how significant of a moment it would be when he said hi. 

Of all the gifts that exchanged hands over his lifetime, he was certain he’d gave the greatest one 5 Christmases later. That day was his fondest Christmas memory. He’d proposed to the love of his life with the Eiffel tower and fireworks in the background. She said yes. It was the most surreal, amazing, and beautiful moment of his life. In that moment, he knew he had come such a long way, but the struggles of life were far from over. 

His 30s were a turbulent time, and it all started on his 30th Christmas. Married life up to that point had treated him well - he had a stable income, he had put his past behind him, but most importantly, he had all the time in the world to spend with the person he loved most. There was nothing he treasured more than their time together, and he was content.

Then, on that fateful christmas, he’d gotten fired. Things were going well, and it had came out of nowhere. He pleaded with his bosses for another chance, for an explanation, but they provided none. Though it was frustrating, it wasn’t the end of the world. He picked himself up quickly and started looking for new jobs. 

But as time went on, and applications came back empty, he started to feel the heat. Every night, as he watched his wife sleep soundly, he was overwhelmed with worries of inadequacy and not being able to provide. That fear kept him awake throughout. He was about to have a kid. He needed money for his family. That gnawing feeling of anxiety built up in him over time, and it lingered well into his thirties.

At some point, those feelings caused his priorities to change. Money was most important to him - he never wanted to feel that dread in his life ever again. The clearest demonstration of this was Christmas. His next 3 Christmas days were spent hunched over at the office, clicking away at his keyboard. He had a kid, but he was largely absent from his family. To him, this was for them. To rid them of worry forever. He never wanted to look his kid in the eyes, with the sympathy of not being able to provide.

He could remember working with Christmas fireworks and lights outside his office window. None of that vanity and festivities mattered to him. He was doing well, he was getting rich. That was what counted.

He’d turned back to alcohol to cope with the stress, and he’d taken his anger out on his wife. In the midst of his anxiety, he no longer had the energy or desire to spend time with her. They grew distant. 

Ironically, his promotion ceremony on his 35th Christmas changed his perspective. The company had rented out the grandest ballroom in New York, overlooking the cityscape in its Christmas splendor. He sipped champagne as he was announced to be the next managing director of the firm, to raucous applause. That night, he’d been congratulated a countless number of times. It would seem, on the exterior, as though it was the greatest Christmas of his lifetime. He had done all he’d set out to do. He was rich, and he never had money to worry about again.

Yet a simple question was starting to eat away at him, and he couldn’t let it go. 

At what cost? 

He wasn’t happy, and none of the people who congratulated him truly cared about him. He was rich, sad, and alone. He’d gotten the money but sacrificed what mattered most. In retrospect, those wasted years was amongst Jack’s biggest regrets. Over time, he did everything he could to make amends for his family, but the time could never be worked back. 

Long after that troubled phase, when his 3 kids were grown, his late fifties took on a different tone. He’d started feeling plagued by a grim realization - his time was limited. 

To make the most of it, he tried to have the most fun with his family as he possibly could. He retired with more money than he needed in his lifetime, and he started spending Christmas differently. A once quaint family gathering evolved into opulent celebrations. On his 55th Christmas, they had dinner in the French alps. On the 56th, they stayed in a high end resort in Hawaii. The next year, they had the celebration on a luxury yacht. The family had loads of fun together, and to him that was what mattered. That they create lasting memories together, while they still could. 

And while they did just that, he had neglected yet another important aspect. The memories were great, but the relationships mattered more. In the midst of planning everything to feel perfect, he had not been intentional about building relationships. Maybe he’d not been everything a father or a husband should be. 

He’d lost the appreciation of excessive Christmas celebrations in his 60s, and found a new joy in stillness. The change was subtle, but he found things gradually going back to how they once were when he was a kid. Christmas by the fire, presents under the tree for his kids, Christmas lights strung around the house. There were no more gifts for him now, but he’d found something better. He enjoyed the dinners they had together, soaking in each other’s presence. He realised that was the greatest gift of all.

Things had largely continued that way, up to the present day. The little things started to matter more to him - just like how things were when he was a kid. Christmas was taking on a childlike joy again, and above all, he was happy and peaceful.

He took another sip of cocoa and smiled as he recounted that last line to his wife. The clock read 11.59. 

As always, the photo frame of his wife kept quiet, looked at him, and listened. He liked to believe she could somehow hear the things he was saying. 

For the first Christmas, the seat next to him was empty. Also for the first Christmas, this day had a double meaning. It was the first anniversary of his wife’s passing. He found himself continuing the tradition of what he used to do with his wife. For the past 20 years, they’d sat together and chatted until the clock struck midnight, often about the silliest of matters. When Christmas Eve rolled around again, he found himself wanting to continue that tradition.  

So he stoked the fire, prepared the cocoa, and placed her picture on the table. Then he started reminiscing on all the memories and flavors of Christmas, chatting away just like they used to. He felt the same peace he did when she was still around.

A gong sounded, signaling the start of yet another Christmas Day. As he lifted the mug up to his lips, he heard a soft knock on his front door. He was slightly perplexed: who would be here at this time of day? He’d never had visitors at midnight on Christmas before. 

Behind the door, he could hear hushed whispers and laughter, but couldn’t seem to make out who it was. He grabbed his walking cane, and moved calmly to the door. 

Slowly, he turned the handle, and opened the door wide.