Should we have gleaned anything from the deluge of holiday movies, mass-produced decorations, and festively themed songs, it's that the popular narrative has decreed Christmas is a holiday best served chilly. So they say!
The powers that be in the top of the equator may have convinced the world, but that's only because they lack the innate knowledge we denizens of the south possess: a sun-drenched Christmas is simply the better way. This season is fraught enough – irrespective of temperature – but at least we don't have to contend with seasonal depression on top of it all.
And this isn't just hot air. I spent my formative years experiencing cold festive seasons. Despite my family originating in New Zealand, my father's career meant inevitable international moves. My younger years were spent in the UK and the US, meaning every December brought early nightfall and a biting chill on my cheeks. The sole upside? The fashion choices; bundling up is inherently stylish.
In all honesty, a cold Christmas has its appeal. It's time-honored, classic, and the possibility of snow is truly magical. The snug appeal of a frosty gathering is hard to dismiss. Yet, with my extended family an ocean away, I always felt I was missing out an true celebration that not even the richest hot chocolate could replicate.
Everything changed when another move brought my family to Australia. There, I finally experienced a proper festive family affair, joined by more family for the first time. With a larger group 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 routine for years – sharing the day with family and friends, complete with water gun fights across the table. That was, until my parents heeded the opportunity of a new job and moved to a notoriously chilly part of northern England.
Visiting them for Christmas after a long absence, I expected a surge of fond remembrance. 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. Hot-pink sunsets stretched across the sky. Suddenly, I was a summer celebration advocate.
"That summer heat eased the grief in monumental ways."
This feeling was reinforced after my father passed away. My mother decided to move back to New Zealand. The first Christmas without him was profoundly difficult, his loss palpable everywhere. Yet, being once more surrounded by family under the gentle heat of the summer sun helped ease the grief in profound ways.
All this said, I readily admit to being a massive hypocrite. This year, I'll be spending Christmas during winter in South Korea, and I'm truly looking forward to explore Seoul in my warmest jacket, hoping for a glimpse of snow. The frosty festive ideal still has a slight grip on me!
Nevertheless, I'm keen to return home for another New Year's Day under the Australian summer sun. Knowing my family – including a newest member – will be close by as we enter the new year fills me with a joy my younger self always yearned for. Not even the fluffiest snow can compare to that feeling.
Elara is a passionate writer and photographer who shares insights on creativity and mindful living through engaging storytelling.
