Celebrating Those Who Don’t
Sometimes it feels like the whole world is celebrating. However, there are always people who forget the holidays. They are often the ones making the holidays possible. Here’s to the invisible, the unheard, the unnoticed. Here’s to those we don’t celebrate enough.
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It’s a holiday; the family is in need of bonding time out of the house, the friends want to hang out and the couple is too lazy to cook. They go to the restaurant that is filled with aromas at every corner. The scent of spices being cooked with just the right amount of heat: hot enough to be fragrant, not hot enough to burn. Their stomachs grumble in anticipation. They are welcomed, seated, and served. Someone complains about going back to work tomorrow as the waiter dashes around, managing the holiday frenzy. It’s a holiday and the cook is more agitated than ever. Repeating motions, skills gained from years of practice and repetition. At the restaurant, if you are not a client, you are on your feet. Everyone will be well-fed here today.
The house party is in full blast. The host runs around, adjusting this, fixing that. Stopping on the way to contribute to conversations in an attempt to be social. The host has no time though. There is food to be brought out and shared, drinks to be opened. The host has been preparing this for weeks; chose the theme, sent out invitations, planned the meals, and every minute detail. The host decorated the place. When people are gone, the host puts their hands on their hips as they observe the mess. They drag trash bags on the floor as they walk around and collect paper cups. The furniture still needs to be moved back. The plastic chairs have to be stacked and there are so many crumbs on the floor the host’s feet crunch as they walk around. With a heave of the shoulders, the host resolves to clean the rest tomorrow: they can barely keep their eyes open anymore. They planned the party, but it feels like they barely enjoyed it.
Crowds are pouring into the festival venue, restless as they wait for the New Year’s firework show. A fair is found at one end, while a concert is held at the other. In-between are several beer stalls. The new year must start properly, after all. Security volunteers stand by the barricade that serves as an entrance, wearing fluorescent jackets which make them look like construction workers. The volunteers have to keep station. The ferris wheel mocks them from a distance. They can hear the echo of a song in the background. At least, the fireworks will illuminate the whole sky. At least, they can enjoy the sparkles from their station.
Live bands, live singers, live performers. Here at the theatre, the show never stops. It’s a sold-out night, as are all holiday special editions. People have more time over the holidays: they are bored, they want entertainment. The technicians, all dressed in black, are the puppeteers. One wrong button pressed, one single miscommunication, and the show turns into a fiasco. If they do their job well, they go unnoticed. The show must go on. In a flamboyant world of music and glitter, the technicians are the hidden stars.
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There should be stars in the sky, but the streetlights have killed them all. The night bus arrives, and youngsters stagger in. Their clothes are way too short, way too thin for the weather. The driver can already tell they are nursing future hangovers. The driver waits for them to be seated before starting the vehicle; they would topple over like dominoes otherwise. Drivers take home the ones with hangovers. There are others: other night workers too, on their daily (or rather, nightly) commute. The driver briefly locks eye contact with them and nods, a miniature salute for those who toil while the rest of the world parties or sleeps.
The building is seemingly devoid of life, except for the security guard, doing the rounds. It is eerie, to only hear one’s own footsteps echoed back. It is mind boggling, to be trusted with protection. It could be objects, people, places. The security guard always has to protect. So what if it’s the holidays? “Stay alert,” goes the saying. “At all times,” goes the implication. There is something out there to protect. How many can be that nocturnal?
The world is quiet. It is morning but it doesn’t look like it because the sun gets shy when the snow takes over. Already, they are hard at work, shovelling and driving the snow plow. The whirring of the engine cuts through the silence. Snow does that. Sometimes, it feels like snow absorbs sound. The sound of snow being cleared. When the world comes alive later, and the people flood the streets, the path will be traced out in the snow for them. The roads will welcome the cars. It doesn’t matter that it is Christmas day. The snow doesn’t clear itself after a storm.
Holiday accidents, the mishaps when people think themselves invincible. What do you mean, alcohol poisoning? What do you mean fireworks are dangerous? Emotions are high, and sometimes the body gives away. The emergency line operator has to deal with dejected people, people who had their plans ruined. People braced for the best time of the year, inconvenienced by the fragility of the human body. The operator is berated everyday but getting berated on a holiday is...extra special. And then, in the ambulance, is the busiest team you will ever see. Every second counts. The crowd counts down to the new year in glee. In the ambulance, the team fights to make more of each second.
Image by JC Gellidon via Unsplash
You may be one of them. You may not be. In fact, the odds are, you are not. You might be with your loved ones for the holidays, rolling your eyes at corny jokes and hoping you were anywhere else. You might be just a bit lonely, but your bed is warm. You are safe. Thanks to them, you can celebrate.
