Growing up, holidays were always a time of warmth, family gatherings, and special traditions. Thanksgiving meant a trip to my Aunt Shirley’s house in Winter Park, Florida. The day was filled with cooking, laughter, and the cozy scent of all the classic dishes simmering in the kitchen. In the afternoon, the men would settle down to watch the football game, while I would find my own joy in drawing, coloring, or playing with toys, tucked away in my own little world.
Christmas, on the other hand, was always celebrated at home with my grandma and Uncle David. It had its own magic—a day marked by baking cookies for Santa on Christmas Eve, carefully setting them out with an apron, and waking up to a day filled with the joy of unwrapping presents and enjoying a cozy, relaxed day with loved ones. Those were the days that felt so full of comfort and tradition.
Now, my celebrations have shifted significantly, and I no longer celebrate Christmas. Adapting to new traditions around Ramadan and Eid has been a journey. I’ve embraced the joy of getting presents for my girls, wrapping them up, and trying to create a festive atmosphere, but I can’t help but feel that lingering sense of something being different. It’s like a part of me still longs for the familiarity of those past holiday rhythms, even though I’ve moved on to new ways of celebrating. It’s an adjustment, but I suppose that’s part of life—learning to find joy in new traditions while still holding onto the warmth of old memories.
The Dappled Odysseys 