Its that time of the year when we all get bombarded with texts wishing us happy holidays. Literally. Phones start ringing with messages from people whose numbers you have long forgotten or deleted. The misfortune of having the holiday so late in the year and phones with too little memory to save all those numbers you’ve picked up during the year. It’s at this time where people’s creative bugs are all juiced up In a bid to create the wittiest texts and outdo every other person on their phonebook. Maybe I’m just being hard on their bugs, juices,or lack thereof.
It is also at this time that fares are hiked to unthinkable proportions and drivers and touts can afford a smirk as they tell you to use your legs if you can’t afford to cough up. During such times, one really wishes they had a car and it serves as motivation for some to get one soon. Well, as soon as the January blues are over. Its not all bad, there’s the goat eating and eating of everything to bizarre proportions that has you cursing come January when you are broke, fat and your clothes don’t fit. Normally you would go buy new ones but you are broke and fees, rent and food generally rank higher than a wardrobe to reward your overindulgence. But how would I know, I’m not any of these things. Scratch that, I don’t have kids and rent to worry about. Yet.
The best part though is when you get together as a family. The larger the family the more dramatic the holiday. It makes the overeating and probably spending the night running outside to the toilets in shags worthwhile. Those are the holiday I remember. A week of grandparents, cousins, chasing around bare foot without worrying that your mum will catch you and smack your bottoms. We spent the evening by the fire cooking or just looking at the fire and letting the older ones cook .We were being kids.Which was totally fine.We did not have to write long funnily written or just plain quirky texts to express how happy we were it was Christmas. It simply showed. Now when I think about it, we gave the older cousins hell trying to get the mud off our clothes and bodies.
Somehow, you can not just be an adult. You have to sort of fit into societal dictates on how an adult should behave or text which is okay for the most part.But not when you need to feel the joy of the season instead of plainly expressing it in words. Well, if someone asked me today what I want for Christmas, I’d say, to hell with the texts just give me my 8 year old body back for just these 3 or so days, take me to my grandparents and that will be a Christmas worth remembering.
Now I have to draft a Christmas message that isn’t overly enthusiastic it sounds fake or too underwhelming that I sound aloof. Happy holidays to me and to you my dear reader. Do try to go easy on the nyama choma and everything nice.