(Or, What Some Would Mistakenly Call "A Cynic's Christmas")
For most, this is an occasion marked by splendid tokens of commercialism, annual licence to excessive cholesterol, a jubilant air of peace or love or true faith. But for others, this could be as ordinary as any other day. What is it anyway? What does a Man have to do with either special-ness or mundane-ness of this time? People have lived and died, the climate has changed, too many history books unread and forgotten, and we still celebrate this day.
But then, I write this for (You, you) because of some "Christmassy" feeling: that power of remembrance urging me to greet you on a holiday that may actually have no meaning. Yet I still do so because, though only perhaps I'm "merry," I am so alive, and (You, you) are alive, and hopefully happy, and now I'm grateful that I get to realise it, that this fed-up world would lose its remaining beauty if (You, you) weren't around, even just on this one simple, chilly day of the year.
