Back in the days, whenever Christmas is approaching and our friends are showing off their Christmas clothes their parents got for them, we are always jealous because most of my friends were Christian and when I got home I will frustrate my parent to get my own Christmas dress because Christmas clothes were a whole experience, an annual ritual but it's always wrapped in excitement, fear, hope, and, often, disappointment disguised with a forced smile.
If you grew up anytime before 2010, you know exactly what I mean. Christmas wasn’t Christmas until your parents returned from the market with a black nylon bag full of “surprises" even for non Christian children in my area. And by surprises, I mean outfits that were either two sizes too big, four shades too bright, or simply not in the same universe as what you hoped for but it's still a Christmas cloth.
We looked forward to it anyway. December 25th was your runway moment. You wanted to “pepper” your friends, to step out looking fresh, to feel like the star of the day and you know what, nobody wants to carry last. But sometimes, just sometimes, destiny had other plans or let me say, our parents do.
Many of us can still picture that outfit, the one you hated at first sight, the one that made you question whether your parents ever really saw you, you know coat of many colours.
There was a year I pestered my mum that I must buy Christmas clothes because all of my friends are already showing off their own and my mum was a tailor then. I don't know where she got that heavily starched lace that could cut through the neck like broken bottle that she sowed for me and my sister and she bought a shoe that looked great but sounded like a generator when we walked, kobokobo-kobokobo, announcing us long before anyone could see us. After all it is a Christmas cloth , the dress have a puffy sleeves so big it looked like we were auditioning for a role in a vintage fairy tale. But who are we to complain, me and my sister rocked it that Christmas and we are number one in town, we didn't have rival.
We wore it with pride, or let me say the pride my mom instructed us to have. We didn’t dare complain ( you want Christmas clothes and you got one), we just practiced our smile because we knew every neighbor would say, “Turn around, let me see you! Ah-ah.
Yet those were the memories that made the season magical. The excitement of waiting, the anxiety of unwrapping to see what they got you. The joy of finally wearing something new even if it wasn’t what you wanted. And the laughter we now share as adults when we look back and realize how simple those times were.
If you never experienced the trauma and glory of the “Christmas clothes saga,” you were probably born in the era of Pinterest, online shopping, and children choosing their outfits with the confidence of fashion consultants.
But for the rest of us? The memories are priceless.
The embarrassment? Legendary.
The stories are Endless.
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