by: grainy
“Christmas,” you declared, “is all about capitalism.”
You swept your arms up in a grand gesture.
“I’m not gifting anyone this year,” you said, and you looked very certain. “We should celebrate Christmas with meals. That’s much more eco-friendly, and I’ve changed my ways this year.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. I thought to myself that it was great because I don’t celebrate Christmas. I wasn’t going to gift you anything anyway. “Okay. So how are you going to do it?”
You deflated a little.
“Actually, I don’t know. There’s too many people I’d have to invite.”
We walked on, holding our plastic cups and plastic straws, strolling around in one of the biggest malls in the country.
“You could get people together. Schedule lunches and dinners. Hey, isn’t that better? Everyone will be eating something good!” I suggested, and I was thinking of the chicken — or maybe even the duck that we’d have… But oh, I don’t celebrate Christmas and I certainly won’t host a dinner, which means I won’t be invited either way. So I stopped dreaming of the food, and concentrated on what you were saying again.
“… not a bad idea,” you were saying. “Hey, do you mind if we stop by the bookstore?”
I acquiesced, and we turned around, meandering through the rows of shops we knew a little too well.
“What are you looking for?” I asked, a little curious since you’re always reading something new and smart, which I’d rather just google a summary of.
“There’s an astrology book my friend will love,” you said, your brows furrowed. “It would be a great Christmas gift.”
I looked at you in surprise, and I think my skepticism was radiating off me because you said a little defensively, “It’s the only gift I’m buying this year, okay! And I’m buying it only because I know for a fact she’ll love it. She’s really into this sort of thing.”
“Oh,” I was a little surprised, but that made me smile. I didn’t know why. “That’s sweet of you. So it’s not a hard no-gifting policy then?”
“I guess,” you frowned a little. “I think I just don’t like gifting for the reason of gifting.”
“Gifts should mean something,” I agreed, as I do think gifts kinda suck when they reveal how little someone else knows about me.
“Yes that’s it!” you pumped your fist. “That’s just it. Gifts sometimes don’t mean anything, but meals together? They bring people together. That's what Christmas should be about. You know, getting together and appreciating each other.”
“Exhausting, though.” I commented, unenthused now that I wasn’t to receive.
We walked into the bookshop.
“When you gift,” you pointed out, “you’re just thinking from the perspective of your image of the person, even if you’re thinking of what they would want.”
You picked up a random Chinese zodiac book.
“Hey, look. Next year’s the rat year… oh, goat’s in for a bad time, huh.” We flipped through the pages of the metal rat’s 2020 predictions. “Do you believe in these? Anyway, yes, it’s not even that you’re thinking of the person. So why do we gift? Do they actually make you feel more cared for?”
I was flipping through the pages with you, so I was just as distracted. “I don't believe in it, duh. How can they say I'm a popular person if everyone in the year is also a rat and equally popular. Ah, why on earth is the career predictions for us so terrible this year, our stars are not aligning! – but I don’t know. I like gifts if they’re something I want or need.”
“Not everyone is a rat, please. There's like 2 other possibilities. Hey, how would I know what you want or need?” you argued. And then you added, “Our love life is only at 64%. Is this another tragic year incoming?”
I paused, and then I turned to you.
“I think… if you just know anyway, that’s what makes me feel cared for.”
“Huh. Maybe that’s why our relationship prospects are only 64% and we have to expect less in the upcoming year.”
We asked the staff if they had the book we were searching for so half-heartedly.
“None of our stores carry this book, sorry.”