Christmas is over, and I sigh of relief. I have always hated it, and this year it's been as awful as ever.
Normal people spend this time of year back home with their parents, eating lots and complaining about having to deal with inappropriate questions from aunties and being hassled by parents on a general level. For me, it's a time of dread and fear. In part because my family is more complicated than those combined of Dallas and The Bold and The Beautiful. When I was young, as the time came near, so came a whole range of issues, going from "how to split our time to celebrate it with two families who loathe each other?" to "what to do when your mother has a nervous breakdown on Xmas day?". All this in an atmosphere where you are pressurised to be happy happy and Christmassy. While comparing yourself to the other families out there who are gathered together, and behaving normally.
I thought this year would be different. Because it was going to be just my mum and me. Because we would be in Hong Kong. Because we had not seen each other for six months and would probably not get into a fight.
But no. We got on each other's nerves. I felt she was nagging me to death. I think in retaliation I was a pest, despite trying to be nice and get the Christmas spirit going. We said awful things to each other. It resulted in her having a nervous breakdown. It was fantastic.
The two days after that, we avoided the subject, we just went in autopilot mode, went out to eat, went to see touristic sights, as if nothing had happened. And now she has flown back home and I have this awful sadness because things will never change. No matter how old and adult I will be, no matter how much water flows under the bridge, deep down our relationship will always be superficial and full of tension. And Christmas together will always be rubbish.