“Not in their religious aspects, no. I think most bank holidays were a reason for the whole family to get together.” And for my father to use literally anything at all that they’d accomplished since we’d last gotten together to make sure I knew how much I suck.
Ren looks out the window. “Let’s start with a new tradition.” The four of us look at him. “Winnipeg this time of year is lit up like the cartoon North Pole. When the sun goes down, we’ll pile into my car and head into town to see the storefronts and the decorations. Then we can drive around to the heavily lit neighborhoods to admire the lights.”
This might be the very first Christmas activity that I’ve felt excited about. The way my stomach flips isn’t with the usual nerves and dread. I’m looking forward to this. To spend time with Ren and his family.
I nod, unable to speak. I’m learning that I’m kind of a sucker for someone being nice to me. Genuinely nice. Not someone who takes pity on me and eventually sees someone that they can apparently—easily—take advantage of.
Looking back on my life, especially as I went off on my own and began my career, I can recall way too many moments of people only being nice to my face when really, they were manipulating me. The thing is, even seeing the pattern that I understand, I’m not sure I’d be any different now.
I’m an easy target. Ren says I have no boundaries and I don’t know how to stick up for myself. He’s not wrong. Acknowledging that only makes me see all the shit I’ve let people do to me. It doesn’t change the fact that’s who I am and will probably always be.
Again, the only aspect of my life that didn’t have that pattern was my ReachMe life. There wasn’t an opportunity for anyone to hurt me or take advantage of my low self-esteem. I only collabed with someone that I chose, and only after I spent months studying them and had several long conversations with them.
I’m not sure why I can’t seem to carry that much confidence and decisiveness into every day. Probably because when I’m doing literallyeverythingelse, there’s always a voice in my head telling me I’m wrong. It’s a mistake. I could do better.
It makes me seize up and unable to make a decision at all. The grip of near panic that overtakes me prevents me from taking a full breath until the expectation is removed.
I help Ren clean up after lunch and we spend time with his family, enjoying some warm tea in the living room while we talk and wait for the sun to go down. Jin is an architect. He livesin Thailand, which explains why he arrived separately from his parents. Jin shows me pictures of the buildings he’s designed that have actually been built.
It’s one of the coolest things to see and know thathedesigned them, and they exist in the world. People live and work inside them. That has got to be one of the most amazing feelings.
Because of the time of year, we don’t have to wait long before leaving the house. It’s four when we bundle up and load into Ren’s car. I offer the front seat to his parents, but they look at me and smile.
“You can’t fit in the back,” his mother says. “Sit in front.”
I mean, they’re not wrong. I’d have made it work, but there are very few back seats I’ve found I fit in. Even the SUV that Ren drives wouldn’t be big enough for me. I’d still end up with my knees in my chest.
The front is only marginally better most of the time unless I have the seat all the way back. I definitely have long legs, though. They aren’t built for vehicles.
Ren lives in one of the rural neighborhoods much like the one I live in, though there are several miles between us. As we drive toward the city, many houses outside lights are just starting to kick on.
We park on the side of the main street with all the shops and wrap up in our winter clothes. I’m surprised and excited when Ren takes my hand in his. Everything feels more magical as our feet crunch over the light dusting of snow on the sidewalk when he holds my hand.
The street lamps are decorated with stars and angels trumpeting. There are snowflakes hanging from trees and pretty Christmas scenes in the windows of the shops we pass. Many of the tall buildings are all lit up, too. One has a projector over it with a Christmas scene playing out.
Turning down another street, we see a castle created by string lights as they run between and over buildings. There are no less than a dozen turrets and they’re all covered in snow. We walk under its big arch and, looking up, I’m mesmerized by the number of lights over my head.
“This is regular?” Ren’s mother asks.
This isn’t my first year in Winnipeg for Christmas, but walking through downtown, I realize that I’ve never seen any of this. Is it brand new? Is this the first year?
Ren nods. “Yes. It gets a little more extravagant every year, but this is pretty normal.”
“It is?” I ask.
He looks at me with his pretty, quiet smile. “It is,” he says.
“You’re not usually here for Christmas?” Jin asks me.
I shake my head. “We don’t always have this much time off and when we do, I’m usually with my family.”
“You never go to town?” he asks.
“In the daylight, yes. For hockey. When we have late games, I’m usually exhausted and focused on getting home, so… yeah, I think I miss what’s going on around me,” I admit.
“There are lights like this in China too,” Jin tells me. “They’re more… cartoony, though. Straight lines on trees and exaggerated stars. Big blow up characters. But most places don’t have Christmas decorations out, per se. There are a lot of lights. Lanterns of various shapes and the trees are wearing lights like another skin. It’s really pretty.”
“In recent years, there’s been a lot of Christmas bans throughout China,” Ren says. “Some say that it represents a Western cultural invasion. There’s a lot of political tie-ins to the reasons behind it.”
