In my corner of the world, Christmas is a single day off event. While plenty of Korean people are Christian, most of the country is sort of “business as usual.” A year ago, on Christmas, I spent it with my family and with my boyfriend that I had just started dating. Many memories I have of the holidays are beautiful and full of bright days. However, having struggled with GAD and Major Depressive Disorder for what seems like forever, the holidays can also be difficult. I know for a fact that many others also have difficult times during the holidays as well, and I really want to be able to spend time with people that also have a tough time during this season.
The holidays are a reminder that I will be subjected to seeing a lot of people that I am not accustomed to spending a lot of time with. The past few Christmases have been spent surrounded by extended family from all over the country and the world. As an expectation I put on myself, I force myself to be at my best. Clothes, skin, make-up, hair, the expression I wear, they all must be perfect. This desperate need to be perfect is something I must have picked up just from the conditions of my growth and upbringing. I, very well, know that I don’t need to be perfect, but I just want to be. I also know being perfect is impossible. So, essentially, I’m setting myself up for failure. Christmas, I am constantly disappointed in myself because a relative told me, “You’ve gained some weight” or “Are you sure you’re exercising enough?” Or “When’s the wedding invitation coming?” Or maybe, “So what’s next for you?” The answers to those point out the many flaws that I’ve already been staring at for the past year since I’ve been told this last, OR, is something that’s just not something that I need to worry about.
Being the oldest child, as many can attest to, is tough. Being the oldest child in a Chinese-American family with immigrant parents, is Tough with a capital “T.” Culturally, the eldest child is just expected to set a good example. My aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, etc., often describe me as “sweet,” “easygoing,” “joyful,” and “responsible.” While I would love to be all of those things, it does feel a bit like my “holiday mask” has to be put on in order to fit those descriptive words. Those that are close to me have seen me without that mask on. “sweet” would probably turn into “prickly, but with good intentions,” while “easygoing” would likely turn into “a ball of worries constantly spewing out the phrase ‘no worries’ while worrying herself to death.” But with my “holiday mask” on, I get to play the part of my parent’s “easygoing,” “sweet,” and “chill” kid that people like to be around. And to be honest, it is quite relieving to pretend to not be me.
This holiday, I am unapologetic and me. Alone. What’s changed from 2018 to this year? I’ve finally lost that weight that always gets a remark. I lost it while I felt like my world was crumbling to pieces and there was not really a point in eating. I don’t have a “big plan.” 2020? I’m here in Korea. When am I leaving? I don’t know, and I’m not going to think about it. I’m living in the moment and soaking in every second and every feeling.
However, I am still halfway across the world. I get a day off for Christmas that I still am trying to piece together how I want to spend, and I’m going to be starting a busy schedule of teaching Winter Vacation classes soon. It’s relieving, but also saddening. Bittersweet. For some of my colleagues, it’s their first Christmas away from their loved ones, and I hope that I can share some insight of what it feels like to see your family continue on without you. It’s an odd and alienating feeling. But a feeling that’s also comforting for me. As someone that has worried endlessly about how my absence affects others and am constantly hoping that my family is doing well without me close, I am comforted by pictures of my family members enjoying the holidays. So if you’re struggling or are alone for the holidays, my heart goes out to you, and I hope that you find comfort in your surroundings knowing that these feelings are not permanent. They’ll come and go, and you’ll feel them here and there, but you’ll be OK. And maybe, I just need to tell myself that I’ll be OK too.
Turbulent Mind 