The Loneliest Day of the Year (December 25th)
So, was 2020 the year that the Universe decided to give us heavy handed hints that we did not spark joy?
Brilliant — and incredibly fitting — the last piece of post that arrived in my letter-box on Christmas Eve wasn’t a gift, a card, or even a cheerful advertisement. No. Of all things, I received a bill. Even at the worst of times, I had never started the holiday off with a bill — though it’s quite possibly the most 2020-thing I could have received.
We went into lockdown in mid-March, right as spring began to bloom, the weather was still cool in the morning and warm in the evening. When I worked from my new desk at home and looked out into the courtyard of my modern apartment building, the situation almost felt idyllic. However, as the year went on, everything — and I do mean everything — began to unravel.
It started with the cancellations: my flight and my long holiday back to England to visit family — cancelled, the Orville Peck concert that was only two weeks away at the time — also cancelled, the Galantis concert scheduled two weeks later — you bet that shit was cancelled, and the Louis the Child concert — surprisingly, ended up being the only show rescheduled to 2021. COVID-19 not only took lives, but it also took the things that make life worth living from us. It took away the spring, the summer, and winter. We lost birthdays, weddings, reunions, and holidays — and it’s hard to believe I haven’t seen a new movie in a year.
If you could see me you’d know that I am visibly stressed — if this were poker, my shoulders would be my tell — they tense from how angry, bitter, resentful, and sad I am over the blatant disregard people have been towards mitigating the pandemic. I’m honestly unsure if I have been free of these feelings for more than a moment since March. Maybe I have, but it feels like I have jumped from one stress-inducing problem to the next. So, after a lonely Thanksgiving holiday, I chose not to put up Christmas decorations this year. The decorations were a glittering and shining example of the bits of life that had been stolen by others’ willful ignorance and selfish behaviour, along with being a reminder of everyone that I would be missing this winter.
Most of the time it felt like the right choice to leave the decorations down, but then would come those days when I suddenly became aware of the date and how close we had come to Christmas Day. I noticed on the 17th, and I noticed on the 23rd. On these two days, I was overcome with sadness as I asked myself if I made the right decision. Christmas was really about to pass me by without any notice as if it was already crossed off the calendar.
As Christmas Day grew closer, it felt like everyone was becoming more emotionally disconnected. We all have a particular reason for why we love this season, whether it’s the lights, the food, travelling or family. So when this Christmas finally came around, we all had our emotional struggles to contend with that are tied to those reasons. Thanks to a large portion of people only thinking in terms of me, we were robbed of our ability to have a collective celebration, and we were sadly unable to come together with the ones we love. So as the days went by, the more isolated and disconnected I felt, which in turn drove my sadness, anger, and bitterness to grow each day because I was so tired of the selfish reasons people had for not socially distancing or wearing a mask.
Everyone I knew had at least someone with them on Christmas, while I sat by myself for days. So, the messages of hope and the reminders of past good times from people with someone around them felt like being gifted coal or rubbing salt. I know everyone had their hearts in the right place, but at the same time, it is astonishing how no one had the where-with-all to realise what they were saying. Their well-intentioned platitudes were akin to standing with an empty plate and told to think of all the great meals I’ve had in the past, while they had a lavish turkey dinner sitting in front of them. If it makes you feel any better, the meat was dry — you know what, it does not.
I was alone. I don’t think I can genuinely impart how alone I was that week. On Christmas Day as friends and family sat down for their socially distant mini celebrations inside their homes across Zoom, I woke up, started my day at work, and then nothing. I rarely heard from friends back home because they were busy — I can forgive them — I usually would be as well.
For a while, I resolved to keep myself occupied and distracted, and for a time, that worked, but as it goes, the world keeps on spinning. The distracted world I had created for myself came crashing down — with the intrusive sound of an email notification — I had to look at my bank account and return to reality. My shoulders tensed up — the darkness had crept in, the sky was black, and my walls now felt like they were closing in on me. I wanted to scream into the void; the world had become smaller, quieter, lonelier.
I was once again alone with my thoughts — would there even be anyone to talk to right now? And if I were to mention my plight to anyone, it would be unfair to do that to them. Who am I to ruin their Christmas day? After all, my problems are my burden; I can manage a bit of loneliness.
Although the stress from this past year affected me to the point that I rarely drink anymore. Why? Isn’t it obvious? Wine has the power to turn our feelings sour — each glass always demands that you contemplate and consider every thought that crosses your mind. Yet remaining sober and cognizant to each moment seems like a cruel punishment for doing what you are supposed to do right now — self-isolating and staying at home, even though so many didn’t.
This year has beaten me down so much I don’t know yet if I am the same person anymore — the future no longer looks as bright as it once did. As the year comes to an end, I have to wonder how much longer I will be able to take the isolation, the solitude, the stress, and the fear?
By the end of Christmas Day, I realised that living so far away from the people I love, needs to be worth it; it needs to have some profound gain because you are trading the numbered days you have left with them — well, I have determined that it’s not worth it — I am done. If I am going to struggle and be miserable, I’d rather struggle and be miserable someplace where I can see my family during the holidays.
This year was marred by loss, a loss you can describe as tragic, monumental, trivial, marginal, eventful, apocalyptic, or even joyful. Pick any adjective — it really doesn’t matter — they all work. I am sure the upcoming year will be better; I know next Christmas will be for me because I had undoubtedly the worst Christmas I have ever had in my entire life.
