originally posted Dec. 24, 2006

It’s Christmas Eve. There’s not a single, solitary package left to wrap. My daughter’s away watching a belly dancer (I’ll get to that in a minute), and I’m here alone, listening to the firecrackers go off.

We drag culture with us from where we begin. I celebrate Christmas instead of Hanukah because of where and to whom I was born. I’d be wearing a sari instead of red and green if I’d been born on the other side of the world.

I admit a comfort in what I know: the Christmas tree, the angels, the presents, the cookies, the chocolate covered bells. At first it seemed really odd to celebrate Christmas without snow - I’d suffered from years of chills and ice. Now, I spend the day basked in sunshine. Today there was a little rain, and my son and I ran outside to cool off.

I can embrace the customs that Costa Rica claims: staying up until midnight and opening presents; lighting off firecrackers; partying with belly dancers and a swim. But, I can drag along the little things that I celebrated as a child to my new home. As a new immigrant to this country, I’m forming traditions that are our family’s own. My daughter will set out cookies and milk for Santa (he lands on the front lawn at our house and in Costa Rica falls in rank as a helper to Jesus); I wait until Christmas day to open the presents. And, although we won’t go ice skating, we’ll listen to Christmas songs for two days straight.

How will we ever get to sleep?