Champagne Stories and Forgotten Shadows
Reading @wakeupkitty's recent post My goal for today is.... reminded me that it takes real courage to speak the truth about the reality.
For some of us, the holidays only deepen the gap. While one party celebrates, the festivities cut deep into the flesh of others.
On ordinary days, we may be able to tune out the world's indifference if we try hard enough, but festive seasons turn that quiet isolation into an unbearable level of noise.
When I see people clinking glasses in their splendid surroundings, I can't help but wonder: is that joy genuine, or is it just a show?
Does our misery serve as the dark backdrop that makes their light seem brighter?
I don't hate the season itself; in fact, I hope that one day I will be able to celebrate it with the right attitude and a peaceful state of mind.
What I detest is the bad experience of dealing with a few bad eggs - those whose condescending and imposing behaviors make things difficult for me, not to mention the social friction they create.
This brings me back to a piece I wrote in 2023. It's a reminder that while years pass, the world hasn't changed, and neither has the sentiment.
Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash
in the tiny hand
of the little match girl
the glow from the match
flickered a whispered wish
for just a taste of warmth
behind those grand window
you are basking
in luxury
celebrating
your fine life
while others
are barely living it
in the squalor
unwrapping
presents
in festive delight
laughter echoes
in your splendid abode
while others
are holding
themselves tight
to keep warm
in their tattered threads
crying tears of blood
you are surrounded
by your loved ones
in warm embrace
while loneliness
is their only respite
all alone estranged
from those around them
you raise your glass
of champagne
in merriment high
while others drink
from their cup of despair
the tales of contrast
it’s celebration for you
but it’s a haunting blight
for them
having it all
and having none at all
are two worlds
far apart
Never forget, there’s others out there in the cold
©Britt H.
Thank you for reading this.
More about the person behind the writing in My Introductory Post
What can I say? Most likely you already know the answer.. it's fake, keeping up appearances and like you I don't hate any season or celebration but it's difficult to celebrate, feel happy if you are the ugly duck, the unwanted, the hated person, the 5th wheel or whatever you like to call it.
Is it possible to celebrate one day for real? I can only answer for me... it's no. There will always be some little or big cloud hoovering around, the only exception might be the peaceof a safe place and the fact you can keep the door shut.
Your poem reminds me of the the fairy tale of Hans Christian Andersen, my favourite since I am a few years old. I know yours is kind of the opposite but the result is the same.
The one time I celebrated at church years ago, I ended up crying throughout the Christmas mass. It was actually quite embarrassing because I started crying in the middle of it.
I was just so overwhelmed by the fact that, for the first time in decades, I was finally able to celebrate in peace.
I wonder which fairy tale you had in mind? I was actually thinking of The Little Match Girl when I wrote that.
I doubt it's embarrashing if you cry in the church. During the mass more people will and with us there are hundreds of people. No on cares.
That's the story. It's obvious you had that in mind.
I didn’t dare turn around or look at anyone while I was crying during the mass. It felt as though everyone else was in such a jolly mood, dressed in their Sunday best.
I usually try to sit in the first few rows; it helps reduce my anxiety because I don't have to see the crowd behind me.
I had read The Little Match Girl many times before with indifference. But one day, I read it again and it finally clicked.
I understood how it felt, standing in the cold and looking through the glass at the warmth inside.
If you ask me only if people enter the church in there special clothes it feels like as if they are jolly but once they sit in the church there is nothing to be jolly about a listen some even think and emotional many will be for sure especially if they know they have to go back to their homes. There are more lonely people that you can imagine and there are many suicides at the end of the year and for sure is one of them has a very good reason.
I know from the very first started I heard it's fairy tale and later on I read it to click was there. The totally fear to go back home if you don't shell all the matches the beating up to no food. I could say I could imagine that I know how it is rather stay outside in the cold and cold back home because you know what you can expect and there are moments you rather die outside instead of going back to what should be home but is the most scariest place on earth. The oldest striking thing of the stories of course the Christmas thought, the hypocrisy, all those people in a hurry to go home to celebrate Christmas to feed themselves and not one single person stops and takes in a stranger or hand to a little girl? It says enough about humanity. A strange word humanity the last thing humans are.
Everyone carries their own hidden burdens, whether at home or at work and everywhere else.
During the celebrations and after Mass, all I saw was joy; people hugging, greeting each other, and heading off to second rounds of parties.
Social media and writing platforms have two completely different atmospheres. Social media is filtered and curated, showing only the highlights.
But in deeper writing, I see the truth: even though I feel isolated, I am not alone in my struggle. There are so many others suffering in silence.
The story of the Little Match Girl is especially striking because the cold darkness outside versus the warmth of a celebration you aren't part of is so obvious.
But honestly, even if we are invited, it may be even worse being inside depending on who we are with.
To me, this feeling isn’t limited to one season, but having Christmas, the New Year, and Lunar New Year so close together is exhausting.
It feels like a neverendingly cycle of 'jollity' being rubbed into my wounds.
People ask why I don’t join them, but what for?
Celebrations are meant to be shared with those who truly care for us. Why should I join a party hosted by people who only wish me no good?
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