Santa is Dead

There comes a time in everyone's life when they are forced to face a horrifying truth. They will never again be a child. They can no longer legally bike on the foot path. They are too tall for the playground at McDonalds. It's is no longer appropriate to wrap their towel around their head like a turban in the swimming pool changing room in Year Seven and reenact the the final scene from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. 

For me, it wasn't these things that lead me to the final realisation of my lost childhood, but rather it was the fact that Christmas Day is drawing nearer, unaccompanied by the uncontainable excitement it was marked with in my youth. I remember the time of advent calendars and Christmas stockings. A time when decorating the Christmas tree was a privilege, and not just another household chore, right up there with emptying the dishwasher. We lose a lot of things in the transition into adulthood, our Christmas spirit included. We may as well all turn into the Grinch or that duck with the room full of money and the little spectacles. 

One of the things that children possess that adults lack is the childlike ability to believe in crazy things. Some children actually believe in Santa. Think about how crazy that is. First of all, why would he give away presents to all the children in the world? One of the things we learn when we grow up is that nothing in life is free, least of all those shoes with the little wheels on the bottom. But more than that, how are the children coerced into believing that Santa is able to afford presents for EVERY CHILD IN THE WORLD. There's like 2 billion children out there. And he travels the entire world in one night. That's only possible if he's in one of those superfast rockets that break the sound barrier. But he's not. He's in a sleigh. And how does that sleigh fly? It's not like Prancer and Vixen and Cupid etc, have wings. 

The whole story is preposterous. I can't believe that four-year-olds everywhere are falling for this. But even when we are old enough to realise the lunacy that our parents have been feeding us, and we discover that Santa was just them all along, that doesn't necessarily mean that our Christmas Spirit has died. Because, well, we still get presents. I can only assume that that is what it's all about. 

But when receiving presents is no longer cause for excitement, we begin to comprehend something. For me, this was very gradual. All these years Christmas has been masquerading as the funnest day of the year, under the guise of presents and Christmas lights on people's houses. But what children fail to understand is that Christmas is not more fun than all those other days in the year. It's less fun. 

Think about it. What does Christmas really entail? It's a day that promises non-stop joy, when what you really end up with is having to spend the entire day at some relatives house, listening to your parents talk to strange adults, while you sit on a wicker couch drinking off-brand Milo. The only positive thing that comes out of these Christmas's for my family is that my brother and sister and I learnt that there would come a time in this life where all we would have was each other and that we must band together and be there for one another etc etc, but that was namely because all the adults were talking and we had no one else to play Jenga with. 

Overall, I suppose I just wanted to draw attention to the fact that it is an unavoidable part of life, the moment when we realise all that we have left behind. We begin life with a beautiful picture of a world full of brightness and opportunity but as we grow older we are forced to wake up to the harshness of reality. And once we do we are not able to go back . We will never again be able see the world through the uncorrupted eyes of a child. We will never again get as excited about Christmas as we could we were young. And we will never again be able to believe in Santa Claus. 

I'm not saying that's a bad thing. I mean, imagine the craziness that would transpire if billions of adults worldwide believed that there was a man associated with Christmas, and that you had to be good all the time to be rewarded. Madness. 

Kicking the Habit

Not so long ago I lived a very healthy lifestyle, I like to think. I kept hydrated. I didn't engage in any illicit drug use. I always waited for the green man to appear at the pedestrian crossings even when there were no cars in sight and everyone else was crossing anyway. I would stare at everyone crossing with disapproving looks, and they would stare back with what was probably a mixture of admiration and respect. 

But one day, this all changed. I still cared about my health, only less so. I started drinking a lot less water and becoming slightly dehydrated from time to time. I know what you are thinking; I was dancing with death. Living life on the edge. But there was worse to come. That fateful day came and I took up a dangerous habit: Second Hand Smoking. 

I never thought I would be one of those people who second hand smoked. I thought it was stupid. I thought, why would anyone do something so detrimental to their health? But that was long before I found myself tied up and gagged by metaphorical ropes that were made from second hand smoke, metaphorically.

It all began as a social activity. I was a social second hand smoker. At first, when everyone stood around smoking, I would stand twenty metres away, across the street or behind a different building, my face covered by some form of non-porous material. But gradually, I felt like I was missing out on an important part of social interactions. That is, the part where you can see and talk to other people.  So, I ventured closer.

Soon I was standing just a mere metre away from them. Usually upwind, I wasn't crazy. But that didn't stop the toxic smoke and it's diffusion. It diffused. It diffused everywhere. It diffused all the way down my oesophagus and into my bronchioles.

But I didn't care. I was a whole new person, and I crossed the street when I wanted to. I second hand smoked almost every day, sometimes more than once. I second hand smoked at home. I second hand smoked while I was walking to University. I even second hand smoked when I was sitting in the smoking areas outside bars and clubs.

Then one day, I realised my second hand smoking had to stop. This was about the time that I found myself gasping for breath on slight inclines. I developed a raspy second hand smokers' cough. And when I went for more than a few hours without second hand smoking, my hands would shake and my lungs would start to seize up. At least, I assume that's what the sharp pains in my chest were.

I didn't understand my habit. I didn't enjoy it and I knew it was bad for me. I decided I had to quit second hand smoking for good.

I went into immediate withdrawal. Suddenly, I saw my smoking friends about 10% less frequently per day, than I did when I was a regular second hand smoker. It was hard, but I knew I had to do this, if not for me then for my alveoli.

I am now almost a whole day second hand smokefree. I would be two days second hand smokefree but I accidentally inhaled some second hand smoke while lining up for the Robyn Concert, because it was raining and there weren't many places that I could stand to get away from the second hand smoke, while simultaneously asserting my authority as the front of the line.

My exploration into second hand smoking taught me something important. Second hand smoking is not as 'glamorous' and 'rebellious' as it appears from the outside. Mostly, it's just quite foggy. It's not actual fog but when your head is surrounded my second hand smoke it can look kind of foggy, and then you just get confused about the weather. And there is nothing glamorous or rebellious about being confused about the weather.

As the hours pass and I slowly regain my sense of smell, I become more certain that giving up second hand smoking is the right thing to do. Even better than quitting would have been never taking up second hand smoking in the first place so I would advise to not start such a deadly habit. Also, if you are a chronic second hand smoker, don't try to call Quitline. They won't take you seriously.