December 1, 2013.
Remember me? It’s Kayan. I know, I haven’t written to you in a couple years. Sorry about that. At this time of the year, I’m pretty busy, studying for exams, packing for trips, checking off last-minute to-do lists… you know how it is.
To be honest, it just hasn’t crossed my mind to write you. One, in all these years, you’ve only written back once and it was probably around the age I had finally mastered my times tables. Two, I never got a pony. A new bike. A dog — have you counted the number of times I’ve asked you, my parents, teachers, dog breeders, for this? No, a Furby is not a substitute for a real, live animal.
Three, I lost your address. Kidding, I totally memorized your postal code (H0H 0H0).
I’m writing you, because, it just so happens that there are things I would actually like to have this Christmas. Desperate times call for desperate measures, as the saying goes. No matter how much (or little) I saved this year, I could use some extra help. So, without further ado.
- Sour badges. I think that’s what they’re called. I was obsessed with them for the good part of 2013, and bought them weekly at this Scandinavian-run candy shop on Long Acre, in Covent Garden. The right sour level that you’re not wincing in pain after two or a dozen. I’ve searched high and low here in Toronto…. nada.
- A year-long unlimited membership at my current yoga studio. I feel bad for using student loans for yoga, and since I only get one shot at this a year, can you really blame a girl for trying?
- One of your elves. When I was growing up, the bed was made by the time I got home from school, clothes were laundered, the fridge was never empty… all by the magic work of your elves, I presume. I really liked that.
- Time-travel machine. Not to change anything. I watched The Butterfly Effect and I don’t want to be Ashton Kutcher and wake up without arms tomorrow. There are just some moments in 2013 I want to relive in their entirety: smell, sight, taste. Each word uttered, I want to hear it, digest everything that person meant when he said it. Meditate those silences: the walk to the bus station on that afternoon in August. Reach back and grab ahold of that deep, visceral reaction from the moment of farewell, surprise, reunion, honesty, vulnerability.
Field Day. The lake in Christiania. Rooftops. Let me go back before this heartbreak, one more time.
I remember once, on this rare occasion that Mum and I were watching TV together, how she quietly wished time would slow down. All of us had grown up. We kept watching in silence, knowing it was my last night in Vancouver.
Give me #4 and nothing else, and I’ll be happy. I’ll forgive you for never writing back or getting me the dog. Besides, I can probably find a good deal online for the rest anyway.
Happy holidays, Santa.