If we have learned anything from the deluge of holiday movies, ubiquitous decorations, and jingle bell-infused songs, it's that the popular narrative has decreed Christmas is a holiday best served frosty. So they say!
The powers that be in the top of the equator may have sold this idea globally, but that's only because they are without the innate knowledge we denizens of the south possess: a sun-drenched Christmas is simply superior. This season is fraught enough – irrespective of temperature – but at least we don't have to battle seasonal depression on top of it all.
And this isn't just an empty claim. I spent my entire childhood enduring cold festive seasons. Despite my family hailing from New Zealand, my father's career led to inevitable international moves. My younger years were spent in the UK and the US, meaning every December brought dark skies by 4pm and a biting chill on my cheeks. The sole upside? The style options; bundling up is inherently stylish.
In fairness, a cold Christmas has its appeal. It's time-honored, classic, and the prospect of snow is truly enchanting. The snug appeal of a frosty gathering is hard to dismiss. Yet, with my extended family an ocean away, I always felt I was lacking an true celebration that not even the richest hot chocolate could make up for.
Everything changed when another move brought my family to Australia. There, I finally experienced a proper festive family affair, joined by extended relatives for the first time. With a bigger crowd to entertain, my father got experimental in the kitchen, concocting a heavily marinated vodka jelly that left everyone reeling. We slept soundly that night.
This became our tradition for years – sharing the day with family and friends, complete with playful battles across the table. That was, until my parents heeded the opportunity of a new job and moved to a particularly cold part of northern England.
Visiting them for Christmas after a long absence, I anticipated a surge of nostalgic longing. Instead, I found myself missing everything that made a summer Christmas special. Sipping sangria in the sun. Feasting upon piles of fresh fruit. Loved ones being just a phone call away. Vibrant sunsets stretched across the sky. Suddenly, I was a summer celebration advocate.
"That summer heat soothed the sorrow in significant ways."
This feeling was reinforced after my father passed away. My mother decided to return home to New Zealand. The first Christmas without him was profoundly difficult, his absence felt everywhere. Yet, being once again surrounded by family under the gentle heat of the summer sun alleviated the grief in profound ways.
All this said, I must confess to being a walking contradiction. This year, I'll be spending Christmas during winter in South Korea, and I'm genuinely excited to explore Seoul in my warmest jacket, hoping for a snowfall. The cold Christmas propaganda still has a slight grip on me!
Nevertheless, I'm keen to return home for another New Year's Day under the bright southern sun. Knowing my family – including a newborn nephew – will be close by as we enter the new year fills me with a joy my younger self always yearned for. Not even the deepest powder can hold a candle to that feeling.