Christmas in a time of turmoil
There is no denying that Christmas is one of the most eagerly-awaited times of the year, collectively adored by nearly the entirety of the British public – and Europe, come to that. I adore Christmas – the irony being that my family, being from a Middle Eastern background, don’t even celebrate it. I find that Christmas is often the time of year where I do the most self-reflection. This is not solely something that belongs to me – ultimately, during the end of the year, it is normal for the majority of us to look back on everything and reminisce with a multitude of emotions.
Considering Christmas wasn’t something we celebrated at home – minus a few small gifts given to us any time between the 1 and 30 December (my parents didn’t bother with Christmas Day), so me and my brothers did not feel left out from our peers when we were younger – I have always been fascinated by the change I see in people. There is a certain softness in our hearts around Christmas-time – even the most marble of hearts will melt slightly.
I enjoyed as a little girl who didn’t speak much English, looking around the streets to see it all lit up brightly, breath-taking in its simple beauty – not understanding exactly why they were there but staring up in awe just the same. I would watch as parents and children wandered onto the streets, wrapped in layers upon layers of clothes to keep them warm in the blistering cold – although the warmth that radiated from their infectious happiness was enough for me. I would stare in amazement as they laughed and smiled with each other, as they chuckled amongst each other whilst listening to the delighted squeals of their babies. I would gaze in total rapture at the teenagers walking along with their friends, pushing and shoving each other onto the snow – on the rare occasion that it decided to grace us with its presence – and watching the broad smiles on their faces. I remember listening to the babble of chatter that I did not understand yet, the cacophony of voices that radiated sheer joy and elation echoing from every direction.
Thirteen years on, I still do the same. It still fascinates me – exactly as it did when I was a little girl, alien to this strange tradition. I still found beauty in all of those things.
So dear reader, you must imagine my most bitter surprise when this year, I struggled. This year, my reflection was not on myself. My amazement did not flow through the cold streets of England and its residents filled with a kind, blanket like warmth that resonated the soon to come arrival of Christmas. My reflection was on the world I live in, and the faith in it that I had lost. My amazement was still present – though directed in horror at the events we have watched unfolding in front of us for a very long time.
This Christmastime, I tried hard to feel the same delight I had felt in it when I was young. But much like the alienation I felt when I was a child, as a Middle Eastern who knew nothing of it but adored it all the same, this time I felt the alienation of a Middle Eastern who suffocated under the guilt of being amidst such beauty.
The older I get, the more and more I realise how lucky I am. I cannot come to terms with it. This Christmas, the present I realised I had was a roof over my head. A bed to sleep in. Clean, fresh clothes to wear. A hot shower to use whenever I want. A school that I can go to. Safe drinking water. Food to eat to quench my hunger. Books to read – every resource I could possibly need for an education.
My heart bleeds for the children in Gaza, who do not know – and will never know – what it is to have those things without worrying about how long they will have it – let alone know what Christmas is. It is bittersweet for me to watch Christmas this year, plentiful and giving for most, knowing that not only in Palestine, but every country in the Middle East struck by the cruel hand of war will have nothing. They will see no lights. They will see no laughter. They will see no change in heart.
There are explosions that paint the sky in dust and smoke. For them, it will be cold and shattering, and they would give anything – anything, believe me – to be one of us here today. I have struggled long and hard coming to terms with the guilt of this realisation. It has haunted and hounded me to think of every time I have complained and shown little gratitude and taken what I have for granted this year. To know the extent of the suffering in the Middle East will stay in children's innocent hearts for a lifetime hurts me. I want to see a world where all children can experience the same happiness during this time of year that the West does. Where they can wake up not to the sounds of bombs and explosions, but to the sound of birds and the soft, honey like melody that is the sound of children laughing.
I do not wish for you to read this and bring an upsetting tone to your cheerful demeanour; so take from this article this following message.
It is beautiful and endearing that you receive and give gifts during Christmas. But always keep in the back of your mind gratitude. Do not get angry with family for getting you clothes or socks that a child somewhere would do anything for. Christmas is about presents, but it is also about kindness. Be mindful of those who might be suffering during this time. Be aware of the world around you.
Show love – as much of it as you possibly can – because God knows how much we need it. To feel it, to hear it, to see it. Extend a piece of your heart to those whose own might be breaking.
Hivda Aydogan, Year 12
Considering Christmas wasn’t something we celebrated at home – minus a few small gifts given to us any time between the 1 and 30 December (my parents didn’t bother with Christmas Day), so me and my brothers did not feel left out from our peers when we were younger – I have always been fascinated by the change I see in people. There is a certain softness in our hearts around Christmas-time – even the most marble of hearts will melt slightly.
I enjoyed as a little girl who didn’t speak much English, looking around the streets to see it all lit up brightly, breath-taking in its simple beauty – not understanding exactly why they were there but staring up in awe just the same. I would watch as parents and children wandered onto the streets, wrapped in layers upon layers of clothes to keep them warm in the blistering cold – although the warmth that radiated from their infectious happiness was enough for me. I would stare in amazement as they laughed and smiled with each other, as they chuckled amongst each other whilst listening to the delighted squeals of their babies. I would gaze in total rapture at the teenagers walking along with their friends, pushing and shoving each other onto the snow – on the rare occasion that it decided to grace us with its presence – and watching the broad smiles on their faces. I remember listening to the babble of chatter that I did not understand yet, the cacophony of voices that radiated sheer joy and elation echoing from every direction.
Thirteen years on, I still do the same. It still fascinates me – exactly as it did when I was a little girl, alien to this strange tradition. I still found beauty in all of those things.
So dear reader, you must imagine my most bitter surprise when this year, I struggled. This year, my reflection was not on myself. My amazement did not flow through the cold streets of England and its residents filled with a kind, blanket like warmth that resonated the soon to come arrival of Christmas. My reflection was on the world I live in, and the faith in it that I had lost. My amazement was still present – though directed in horror at the events we have watched unfolding in front of us for a very long time.
This Christmastime, I tried hard to feel the same delight I had felt in it when I was young. But much like the alienation I felt when I was a child, as a Middle Eastern who knew nothing of it but adored it all the same, this time I felt the alienation of a Middle Eastern who suffocated under the guilt of being amidst such beauty.
The older I get, the more and more I realise how lucky I am. I cannot come to terms with it. This Christmas, the present I realised I had was a roof over my head. A bed to sleep in. Clean, fresh clothes to wear. A hot shower to use whenever I want. A school that I can go to. Safe drinking water. Food to eat to quench my hunger. Books to read – every resource I could possibly need for an education.
My heart bleeds for the children in Gaza, who do not know – and will never know – what it is to have those things without worrying about how long they will have it – let alone know what Christmas is. It is bittersweet for me to watch Christmas this year, plentiful and giving for most, knowing that not only in Palestine, but every country in the Middle East struck by the cruel hand of war will have nothing. They will see no lights. They will see no laughter. They will see no change in heart.
There are explosions that paint the sky in dust and smoke. For them, it will be cold and shattering, and they would give anything – anything, believe me – to be one of us here today. I have struggled long and hard coming to terms with the guilt of this realisation. It has haunted and hounded me to think of every time I have complained and shown little gratitude and taken what I have for granted this year. To know the extent of the suffering in the Middle East will stay in children's innocent hearts for a lifetime hurts me. I want to see a world where all children can experience the same happiness during this time of year that the West does. Where they can wake up not to the sounds of bombs and explosions, but to the sound of birds and the soft, honey like melody that is the sound of children laughing.
I do not wish for you to read this and bring an upsetting tone to your cheerful demeanour; so take from this article this following message.
It is beautiful and endearing that you receive and give gifts during Christmas. But always keep in the back of your mind gratitude. Do not get angry with family for getting you clothes or socks that a child somewhere would do anything for. Christmas is about presents, but it is also about kindness. Be mindful of those who might be suffering during this time. Be aware of the world around you.
Show love – as much of it as you possibly can – because God knows how much we need it. To feel it, to hear it, to see it. Extend a piece of your heart to those whose own might be breaking.
Hivda Aydogan, Year 12