What is Christmas really about? - 1. What is Christmas really about?

When our religion teacher asked the class what Christmas was about, the reactions were divided to either yawning or people rolling their eyes. “To not know that,” the resident teacher’s pet, Theodor, said. ”Well, that would be sort of embarrassing.” Then people started to discuss Jesus, Mary and some kings with gifts, but by that point I had already switched my brain to “stand by”.

Honestly though, nowadays Christmas in Germany is nothing more than one big celebration of consumerism. In September you can already see Coca-Cola’s (in)famous version of Father Christmas prancing through the advertisements, and everyone is getting giddy to find appropriate presents for their family and friends. “Giving” has become more of an obligation than a voluntary act, whereas any half decent Christian suddenly remembers their obligation to go to church at least for one time in the year.

‘On the other hand...’ I thought to myself when my boyfriend took my hand in his, ‘on the other hand Christmas is also the celebration of love.’ - and the festively decorated shopping malls; the sight of small children speculating which one of the nice toys they were seeing in the stores would be found under the tree at Christmas Eve; the scent of roasted almonds; that all somehow did add to the perfect atmosphere of being in love.

“Are you sure, Djadi?” I asked him with a meaningful look at our intertwined fingers.

He just nodded wordlessly and squeezed my hand softly. Instead of talking about it any longer, I gave him a small peck on his cheek. I could feel my heart beating a bit faster as he smiled at my gesture. Such things were always difficult with Djadi. His family wouldn’t be all that thrilled at the thought of the two of us. But such were the advantages of a mid-distance relationship of about thirty kilometers. Close enough to just meet up, but distant enough not to be recognized by someone on the street when going out.

“Let’s go look for presents first and then, as always, find some roasted almonds”, he suggested, and we moved towards the entrance of the shopping mall.

A wave of hot air washed over us as we entered the huge building. Looking at the slowly moving masses of shoppers, Djadi sighed unhappily. “Do you really have to procrastinate with your present shopping until the last weekend before Christmas every single time?” He asked.

“What do you mean, ‘every single time’?” I grinned at him. “This is only the second Christmas since we met. How would you know?”

He struck out his tongue at me in exaggerated childishness, but then he had to laugh. “I know you well enough to know that you won’t change any time soon,” he asserted, sure of himself, and then he pulled me by my hand into the masses.

Luckily we both weren’t all that excited with shopping, so we had all of my purchases done in less than one and a half hour, and even then we spent most of that time in lines, waiting for our turn at the checkout. A box of chocolates for my mother, a tie for my father, a new computer game for my brother and for my sister some doll from that Russian series she always raved about. We were almost done when Djadi grabbed a small bottle of expensive perfume. “We don’t really celebrate Christmas,” he explained, “but my mother will be happy about a small present anyway.”

“See?” I laughed. “That just proved my point. Even as a Muslim you don’t get around the forced consumerism. That once again shows what Christmas has become in Germany.”

Djadi shrugged. “True, but is that really so bad? A few nice days with the family, giving each other presents… your Jesus would probably find it pretty sad that you even need an occasion and a date to do that. But then, he’s been dead for a long time, so his opinion doesn’t really count anyway. At least people give presents and meet their families, so that's something.”

I nodded in thought. He was sort of right. At least we did have a reason to get together with our families. Thanks to the two days after Christmas being official holidays, there was even a chance for some quiet time and contemplation. If one was to look at it this way, it did become a bit more difficult to say something against the ‘celebration of love’. Speaking of the celebration of love... I winked at my boyfriend. “Do you know yet whether you can sleep over at my place during the Christmas days?”

Djadi grinned broadly. “Yep. Marc will cover for me again.” Marc was some second cousin of Djadi whose profile he had found on some internet gay community. The same one where we had met each other, as far as I remember. Ever since then Marc had volunteered to cover for Djadi, in case his parents wanted to know where he was going or where he spent the night, though luckily they usually didn’t ask too many questions.

I was glad my parents were a bit more open. They knew about us and even though I wasn’t quite sure they totally understood our relationship, they supported us anyway and were always kind to Djadi. Since his family didn’t celebrate Christmas, and since we had been together for a while, they had even allowed him to spend the time at our place. They had wanted to know if Djadi’s parents were okay with that. “They don’t really care where he spends his time,” I had told them, and lowered my eyes, doing my best to look sad. “They aren’t exactly the best parents.”

Okay, it was probably not exactly nice to portray them in such a bad light, to pretend they didn’t care about their son. Maybe his origin and the prejudices most people tend to have helped to make my parents believe me. But what was I supposed to do? If my parents had known that we were lying to his parents so he could come to us… that wouldn’t have gone over well at all.

After buying roasted almonds, we left the Christmas market and sat down on a bench in front of the shopping mall. We were as close to each other as possible, tightly wrapped in our coats and pullovers, shoulders touching, lovingly feeding each other the sweet nuts while the snowflakes were falling to the ground around us.

“You know”, I stated as I put my arm around Djadi and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I think Christmas isn’t that bad after all. At least right now, I really can’t complain.”

“Uh huh”, he concurred, leaning into my embrace and resting his head against my shoulder.

And so we sat there for a while, watching the families walking past in the typical Christmas stress. An annoyed mother scolding her whining child; two boys, about eight years old, watched us cuddling, giggled and whispered something to each other, then walked on without daring to come any closer; a violin player playing a great rendition of Hallelujah, despite the cold and people dropping a few coins into the hat before his feet. I wondered whether he really believed in Jesus’ birth, or whether he just came for the money.

I was just wondering whether we should get up and go somewhere warm when I saw an elderly lady leaving the mall. She was carrying two overloaded bags, one in each hand. Apparently she had been shopping for the coming Holiday.

I remembered my own grandmother, who had died a few years before. Since she lived in a small village, my mother and her two siblings had always taken turns going shopping with her in the city. Each week someone else went. As small children, my cousins and me had often spent time at her place, but over the years we became busier with school and our own lives, and so the contact became less and less until in the end we only saw her once a year on the day after Christmas.

I continued watching her as my hand drew circles on Djadi’s back. Her steps were extremely short and slow. It took her at least two minutes just to walk the short distance from the entrance over to our bench. She had to be really old, at least eighty. The bag in her right hand was hanging barely above the ground, while the one in her left hand was being dragged along with an abrasive sound. It was obvious that she was fighting just to take the next step.

Djadi nudged me softly and nodded his head in her direction. So he had noticed her too. “May we help you? Those bags look incredibly heavy,” he spoke to her kindly as he rose from the bench.

She took a moment looking over us before she spoke. “Oh thank you, you really don’t need to do that”, she replied in that typical slightly croaking voice some older people have. “You don’t have to help me.”

“Nonsense, I don’t need to, but I would like to,” he responded with a smile. “Do you mind if we carry those bags for you? Where do you need to go?”

She once again took a moment looking at us before smiling thankfully. “Just over there, to the parking bay. I have called a taxi.”

I looked down the street to the loading area for trucks at the side of the shopping center. The center being right in the inner city, I realized, this was actually the closest possible place where a taxi could pick her up. For those 150 meters she would probably have needed ten to fifteen minutes. That is, if she wouldn’t freeze to death or collapse before getting there.

‘Doesn’t she have any children or other relatives who take care of her? No mobile nursing service? Not even a wheeled walker?’ I wondered, but didn’t dare to speak those thoughts. There are just certain topics better to be avoided, and this seemed to be one of those. Instead Djadi and I each took one of her bags and joined her on her way along the side of the mall.

An employee stood at a side entrance right at the loading area, smoking. “It is too bad I can’t leave through the side entrances”, she lamented.

Unsure what to say, I just nodded. “Yeah, that sucks.”

“And I have to leave the shopping cart in the store,” she continued with exhausted voice. “So I have to carry all this through the whole mall, too. Being not as young anymore… oh well,” she broke off and focused on her short, arduous steps.

“Did you buy something nice for Christmas”, Djadi asked mostly to counter the awkward silence.

“Yes, I will have a duck for Christmas dinner,” she smiled at us melancholically. “Just like we used to eat, when my Franz was still alive. Back then we had duck for our Christmas dinner every year.”

I didn’t quite know what to reply. “We will have a duck this Christmas, too”, I suddenly tried, and then added jokingly. “As long as Djadi,” I nodded towards my boyfriend, “doesn’t burn it.”

Djadi laughed. “You know, a few months ago his mother said that we had to learn how to cook and left us alone in the kitchen. I didn’t know that the water has to be hot before you put the spaghetti in. He will never let me live that down.”

In that moment our conversation was stopped by the arriving taxi. I loaded the bags into the trunk while Djadi opened the door for her.

We stood by the door as she got into the car, "I wish you a very merry Christmas," he said smiling.

“Thank you for helping me,” she replied, obviously exhausted, but very thankful. Then she smiled kindly at Djadi. “Don’t worry, the duck will work out fine, I’m sure. I wish the two of you a wonderful Christmas Eve.”

“Merry Christmas to you too,” I wished her, and then the taxi drove away.

---

Three days later on Christmas Eve, after unwrapping our presents, Djadi and I sat on the couch, cuddling and watching my younger siblings playing with their latest toys. In the background the fireplace was burning and as I stared into the flames, the face of the older lady came back to me. “I wonder what the old lady from the shopping mall is doing right now”, I told Djadi.

He sighed. “I hope that she isn’t alone.” Then he curled up like a cat and I pulled him against my chest.

“I hope that, too,” I whispered. One of the logs crackled loudly and sparks scattered in all directions. My eyes were lost in the embers. ‘Would she have a real funeral? Or would she be cremated, virtually anonymous?’

I tried to suppress those thoughts, as I hugged Djadi closer. And yet, I was unable to completely shed the thought of her, sitting in her old-fashioned living room, eating her Christmas duck all by herself, thinking of her Franz.

After looking over my playing siblings, I closed my eyes. Would Djadi or I sit at a table like that, too, in the distant future? Wishing we had someone, so we weren’t alone? Could I have done more for her?

And what had always been clear to me, what I hadn’t spent any real thought on in a long time, now became a question once again.

What is Christmas really about?

I hope you enjoyed this, and it maybe made you a bit thoughtful, though hopefully not sad!
If you have a minute, please leave me your thoughts in a review. From the German version and the responses there I know readers can take very different things and impressions away from this, and I would love to hear yours.