Childhood is like a wave; it washes over us, only for it to disappear as quickly as it began. We never notice the wave receding, only its disappearance. In December 2018, I was sulking in my house with my dad, mom, and sister on Christmas morning. It was at this moment where I became an outlier; I recognized my childhood fading.

Hopefully, this day will pass quickly, I thought, as I trudged down the stairs into the living room. The bright light from the sun flowed into the room, creating a sparkle on the colored lights wrapped around the Christmas tree. A few presents sat below, beckoning to be opened. It was Christmas, yet it did not feel like so. In previous festivities, I remembered observing the presents intently as they crowded the Christmas tree, creating a city of boxes. Today, the lack of presents took away from the usual merry feeling of Christmas. I looked around the room. The brown leather sofa, slim TV, and the modern ambiance of the house further diminished this feeling, I noticed, as I glanced out the window. 

“Wow, there’s no snow outside,” I exclaimed to myself sarcastically. The sun’s rays and heat tickled the dark rings below my dull brown eyes. Yet the shortage of gifts was not the poorest part of this year’s Christmas---the issue was that I no longer felt the rush of excitement when I ran down the stairs to see if “Santa Claus” came: I knew he did not exist. I no longer felt the merriness and coziness of Christmas, but on top of that, the spirit of Christmas that once coursed through my heart and soul long ago was present no longer. 

I felt like my childhood was escaping me, like the last bit of heat fleeing a warm mug of Cocoa; this bothered me tremendously. I hoped that secretly “Santa Claus” would come, and there would be more presents and more festivity. I wished he would tell me this was all a joke. Christmas would be saved. As my eyes flickered across the room, I noticed my old Wii. It was one of the first gifts I ever received for Christmas. A pang of nostalgia hit me as I remembered first opening it up. If only I had a time machine... of course, such things would never exist. A few moments later, I saw my family members arriving downstairs one by one. My mom came first. 

“Bom dia,” she exclaimed. “O que passa?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled. 

My dad, who had too just walked down the stairs and heard that small snippet of conversation, clicked his tongue.

“It's Christmas,” he said. “Enjoy it.” How could I, if the essence of Christmas was gone?

My sister simply entered the living room, greeted the family, and parked herself down on the sofa with her phone. Her murky brown hair echoed my thoughts. It’s Christmas. Enjoy it. The words flew into my ear and out the other. What would my father know about Christmas? I shrugged off these thoughts. It was a family tradition to eat breakfast first, and then open each of our presents. Thus, we made breakfast and sat down to eat.

A while later, I was sitting down on my chair, prodding at my toast while I reminisced over the last years. I did not feel like eating, nor did I feel like celebrating Christmas. I sighed. My mother decided to open up a family album of our Christmases in the past years. As we looked through the photos, I remembered running downstairs on Christmas morning and feeling delighted when I saw the many presents sitting below the Christmas tree. I remembered the cozy smell of woodsmoke from the fireplace floating around the merry room. I remembered looking outside and seeing the magnificent snow covering the evergreen trees and the vast plains of grass, and the white clouds blocking the sun and heat, creating the perfect atmosphere for Christmas. Most importantly, I remembered the feeling of family when we opened up the gifts. Nothing was the same anymore, I thought. 

Suddenly, my dad’s words echoed in my head. “It’s Christmas. Enjoy it.”-- Perhaps he was right, I thought. Yet... I remembered the apprehensiveness I felt on Christmas Eve when I wondered if Santa came or not. It was hard to celebrate Christmas when it was so different, especially when I knew that Santa didn’t exist. This year’s Christmas was like a jigsaw puzzle that had one lost piece, I realized. You knew you had the piece originally, but now it had disappeared and the jigsaw would never be complete. Would I ever have the missing piece once more?

It was in this moment of contemplation when he came to me. 

“The moments like the one you just remembered will never happen again,” a merry voice whispered in my head. “This is why you should try to savor and make the most out of every moment.”

“Ho Ho Ho, and Merry Christmas!” the fleeting voice whispered.

Looking back, I realize that this was a pivotal moment in my childhood; it helped me comprehend that my life as a child would soon end and that I had to appreciate every moment of it. More importantly, I learned that “each moment only happens once”. Thus, I should try to make the most out of my life. I always try to have this type of mentality nowadays, but sometimes I still underappreciate. Yet I feel like nearly every moment since that day in December 2018 has been relished, even the more lousy ones. It shall always amuse me how one peculiar Christmas taught me a mentality that I will carry into adulthood and beyond.