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  • Writer's pictureSophie

Day 119

I've spent basically all day wrapping Christmas gifts for my family. The gifts have been of various sizes and importance, and fit some sort of need or want of the person it is being given to. Now that I'm sixteen and my brother is thirteen, the only remaining Santa believer is my nine-year-old sister. My parents and I already suspect that she has a growing suspicion that the jolly man in the red suit may be a figment of her imagination. We are desperately trying to keep the magic going in our house, with not much success. Christmas feels far more toned down this year, not necessarily in gifts, but in happiness. I often find myself wondering how Christmas still feels special even when there is no one left to believe in its notability. The joy of Christmas dying is often a cliche in an abundance of Christmas movies, but it is really applicable to real life?

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