THE WEEK OF. “The stress of Christmas shopping and the sadness of rain” (Antwerp)
First let me start by wishing you happy holidays. Merry Christmas and if I don’t see you again, Happy New Year. I hope that the search for presents and energy-efficient Christmas lights is as pleasant as it is fast on its way.
I started it much too late, according to old Christmas tradition. Unlike my half wedding book who, in her enthusiastic self, placed her package for me under our improvised Christmas tree weeks ago. Since then she has been stalking me asking if I don’t want to open it anyway. She would rather give presents than receive them. I was able to hold off the boat, I still want to do my Christmas shopping. “But I don’t need a present,” she says.
But I don’t fall into that trap. I would never dare to say that I have managed to understand the women, but I do know the basics in between.
In between I have my round of Christmas shopping behind the rug. With the exception of one package for an unnamed family member whose list has not been completed. You may be familiar with the stress of gift shopping. Especially if you have to fall back on your own creativity. What are you buying? Will he/she be happy with it? Has he or she already? Shouldn’t I have bought something else…
It almost makes me forget that this weekend is already Christmas. Because of all that gift stuff I didn’t enjoy the run-up to the holidays too much. Is it because of the rain of the past few days and the sadness that brings with it? Fortunately, there is still winter in Antwerp and the Christmas market, thanks to the smell of warm mulled wine and waffles, is making a commendable effort. At least if you stay away from the Groenplaats, you want rain or not, that’s where the sadness drips off the tent canvases. The sound of the generators and the cold stores makes the square even cosier than it already was.
But if you take the time to stroll through the Handschoenmarkt and via the Grote Markt towards the Suikerrui, you will soon feel the Christmas spirit returning. It is also there that this week I got talking to Luis, a Spaniard who works in one of the souvenir shops at the cathedral. He also enjoys the hustle and bustle and the many tourists who discover the Antwerp Christmas market. But when I ask him how he goes the deceased, it becomes silent. After some information gathering, he talks about how he lost his wife in March of this year. After 35 years together, he lost his best friend.
“I feel empty inside,” he says emotionally. “Since her death I get no pleasure from anything and I ask myself every morning whether it makes sense to get up.” Yet he perseveres, not least for his daughter. But the holidays, he can’t charge himself for that. “Partying now that she’s gone doesn’t feel right. So I just stay home, like every other night.”
And so my writings of the above suddenly feel very banal. And may I count myself lucky that I can pass my holidays with my best friend. Good luck, Luis. And strength for everyone who has to get through this end of the year period after the loss of a loved one, for whom the rain cannot wash away the sadness.