It was already 9.30 am, when I pedalled fiercely down narrow streets, sweat dripping down the back of my legs. The roads between our villa and my parent’s hotel were quiet, despite it being a normal workday for locals.
I was late. The buffet would be over at 10.30 and I’d promised Mum I’d be there. It was Christmas Day after all.
When I arrived, the dining room hummed with accents from across the globe, reindeer antlers on the heads of those with a familiar Aussie twang. In the corner, a tinselled tree flanked by cellophane boxes stood next to a Balinese man flipping pancakes. I located my parent’s table and collapsed in the chair next to Dad after exchanging hugs with Mum.
“Sorry I’m late, we slept in.”
This wasn’t the only sorry I found myself saying that week. I felt guilt at choosing Bali over Australia for Christmas and guilt that my parents flew over to spend it with me. The guilt was exacerbated by the absence of holiday revelries in this Hindu country. Our morning was empty of long-held family traditions, with no party crackers, silly jokes or paper hats.
I got the Christmas I really needed.
I felt guilt that I couldn’t give my parents the Christmas they were used to. I had no grandchildren to spoil, no oven for a roast and no church for an annual visit. But this was the way I liked it.
In Australia, my husband and I weren’t into big celebrations, but we participated in Christmas work parties, exchanges of gifts and trips to see family. Christmas was when we did what we’re supposed to do. We’re Australian and Australians celebrate Christmas.
As our second December in Bali approached, we declined invitations for lunch and gift-giving we didn’t need. Our shopping trips became increasingly Westernised, as global corporations expanded into Indonesia and brought a Westernised Christmas. Winter flavours hit American coffee shops and European boutiques blared songs about cold weather we didn’t get in the tropics. Brands were intent on making December into something special, capitalising on tourist numbers as the West arrived on holidays.
Spending Christmas in Bali, we missed seeing our toddler nephew believe in Santa Claus. We missed catch ups with relatives and the excitement of fireworks after Carols at the Park. But we strangely honoured other things that we valued. With no visitors from home, we didn’t have to plan anything.
There were no presents to buy, no queues in grocery stores to endure, no checklists to cross off until we were cross-eyed and needing a break from the holidays. We simply exchanged small gifts and went to the beach, in our own way acknowledging the many years when we did celebrate.
I felt relaxed, happy and grateful
After two years of not suffering the mental and financial stress of Christmas, escaping the "silly season" helped us make a choice about what is really important as we approached the end of the year.
While we still reminisce about a Christmas we once loved, removing ourselves from the seasonal insanity helped us see that Christmas used to be so wonderful because every business was closed, and we didn’t have to go anywhere. It was a day when we would hang out with family, eat a turkey lunch and play games until late in the night.
Our third Christmas in Bali brought all of this home for us. The morning started like any other, my husband leaving for a surf, while I rode to the gym. A red t-shirt and jingle bell earrings on the only other gym-goer reminded me of everything I had avoided. I felt relaxed, happy and grateful that I was spending the day with no opulent feasts or glittery gifts in sight. I made video calls to family from the cross-fit machine and we ate fried rice for dinner. December 25 passed with barely a second thought. I got the Christmas I really needed. No shopping, no cooking, no pressure to make it a perfect day.
As I prepare to visit family in Australia this December, it’s my first Christmas in Bali that I think of most. After our buffet breakfast, I chilled out by the pool with my parents. My sense of guilt was thick by the afternoon as I worried that the ‘non-event’ might be getting them down. But as I said goodbye to them in the evening after a fancy dinner out, Dad replied to my apologies with: “It was the best Christmas I’ve ever had because I didn’t have to do anything.”
This Christmas, I think the best gift I can give my parents is some of the relief I have felt, and focus on family over the fanfare.
Stacey Gerblich is a freelance writer and part-time philosophy student who splits her time between Australia and Indonesia.
