11/12/2025
๐๐ฌ ๐ข๐ญ ๐ฃ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ญ ๐ฆ๐? ๐๐ซ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ก๐จ๐ฅ๐ข๐๐๐ฒ๐ฌ ๐ง๐จ ๐ฅ๐จ๐ง๐ ๐๐ซ ๐๐๐๐ฅ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ฌ๐๐ฆ๐?
There was a time when Christmas felt loud. Not the noisy kind, but the kind that filled the whole house and a sense of wonder that made everything glow a little brighter.
I remember, as a kid, once the year reached the 'Ber Months,' the streets started to become livelier and a little brighter, with colorful lanterns hanging in every home. Back then, the holidays meant magic.
But somewhere along the years, the magic dimmed. Maybe it slipped away quietly, the same way childhood did. Maybe it faded with the people who left, the traditions that stopped, or the responsibilities that grew heavier than the Christmas star we used to hang.
Now the holidays feelโฆ muted. The lights are still there, but they donโt sparkle the same way. Songs still play, but they sound like echoes of something I used to understand.
We put up the tree because โitโs tradition,โ not because weโre excited. We wrap gifts out of obligation, not out of wonder. We show up to gatherings but our smiles feel thinner, like weโre wearing the holiday spirit instead of feeling it.
Maybe this is what growing up is; learning that December doesnโt fix anything, that the lively Christmas carols doesnโt wash away loneliness, that lights can shine bright and still not reach the places inside us that have grown dim.
๐๐ข๐บ๐ฃ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ช๐ด ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ช๐ต ๐ช๐ด ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ.
โ๐ป: Welrose Pacate | News Editor
