xmastime is here

xmastime is here
Originally uploaded by ninapod.

“I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.”

It’s a lovely and heartbreaking song, one of my favorite Christmas carols. I never thought there would come a time when I’d be singing it about myself. Not be home for Christmas? Sacrilege! Now let’s bake some gingerbread and watch Elf.

Well, do you hear what I hear? Because I’m singing it now.

This winter, for the first time in 18 years, I am spending Christmas in Japan. There’ll be no snow and mistletoe, no presents under the tree—no tree, period.

Actually, I’m being a bit of a Scrooge. I will be home for Christmas—Tokyo is home again since I moved back last year, after living abroad for a long time. But for me, a die-hard, it’s-the-most-wonderful-time-of-the-year Christmas fanatic, it’s just wrong not to take a trip to see family, to watch It’s a Wonderful Life and One Magic Christmas, get up early Christmas morning and spend the whole day in pajamas, eating stollen, giving and receiving presents.

I was an international school second grader the last time I spent December 25th in Japan. Back then, as we did every year, my Japanese dad put up Christmas lights on the roof (the only ones in the neighborhood) while my mom, a Washington, D.C. native, played the Julie Andrews Christmas album and dug out advent calendars. My sister and I wrote letters in shaky English to Santa and learned the words—phonetically—to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

I was in heaven, enchanted by the mix of religious mysticism and materialistic frenzy. It was also a tradition that came from my American mother, so it was foreign and exotic, a mysterious visitor that appeared every year bearing gifts. We were the only family in the neighborhood who celebrated Christmas as something more than just a commercial holiday, and it made me feel special, like I was in on a juicy secret that smelled of warm cinnamon and cloves and sounded of sleigh bells.

When my family moved to the States, to my delight the whole country got as giddy on the holiday spirit as I did. Christmases were often spent with my mother’s relatives on the East Coast, who also loved the holidays, so I came to equate the season not only with sacredness and a chance to score serious loot but also with family and togetherness.

The next 18 years brought the awkwardness of adolescence, my parent’s divorce, the self-absorbed angst of high school, the uncertainty of college and imminent adulthood. (There were lots of good times too) But each year, without fail, I could count on Christmas to emerge from the damp grey Seattle winters and fill me with the wonder that hadn’t waned since childhood. The magic of Christmas always remained with me.

But the Christmas I loved was an American—a Western—Christmas. I thought there wasn’t anything in Japan that could match it. Though I am pretty sure he has the same good memories of my childhood family Christmases as I do, the day held no significance for my father, who’d since moved back to Tokyo. He and everyone else here worked on Christmas like any other day, because for them, it pretty much was any other day. Maybe some people would eat buche de noel Christmas cake, buy presents for friends, and of course it’s a good excuse for parties. But it’s just not a part of the culture here.

When I moved back to Tokyo last year, something I’d always wanted to do, I assumed I’d head back to the States for Christmas. I did this the first year, and I must have been on Santa’s “nice” list because it was as jolly and merry as I could have hoped for.

But this year I knew I couldn’t afford the trip or ask for the time off from the bosses at my new workplace. The prospect of Christmas as just another typical Monday—commuting, hour for lunch, osakini at 6pm—sounded worse than, well, the day after Christmas.

So. I can either whimper and moan that I don’t get to have Christmas my way, or I can face the reality of being an adult, of expensive airfare and job obligations, and try to make the best of a Tokyo Christmas.

After all, this is a pretty cool city. And I’d be missing the whole point of the holiday if I thought there was only one time zone where I could enjoy it.

It won’t be the same, of course. But that’s a good thing, because it makes my favorite kind of Christmas—an American Christmas—special, something I have to work for and look forward to. It will be lighthearted and fun, with fabulous illuminations at shopping malls and special Christmas menus at my favorite restaurants. Hey, that’s a bonus right there—restaurants actually stay open on December 25th here, often with pretty amazing deals.

And in a way, it’s a sign that I’m grown up now. I have to learn to conjure the magic of Christmas on my own, without it being handed to me like the presents I got as a kid, wrapped and waiting for me beneath the tree. After all, it was my American mom who, pretty much on her own, created the Christmas for my family in Japan that I fell in love with.

It’s my turn now to make my own traditions, and see if there are others to share it with who get as much joy from Christmas as I do. And that is pretty lovely, if a little heartbreaking. Just like the song.