Boxing Day is an official day off here in Australia. Americans don’t know what it is; I never knew what it was until Chris told me. I personally think it’s a weak excuse for another federal holiday, but I’m never going to complain about an extra day off from work..

Boxing Day is a happy day at the Jacob house because it’s another day to feast on great food prepared by the family and another day to continue the games and madness that occurred on Christmas just the day before. In some way, though, it’s a sad day because it is a reminder that Christmas has ended, which means that the peak of happiness and highness is over, and soon it will be time to go home, back to reality and back to work. The days for Loaded Questions and Balderdash are now numbered.

Three weeks seems like a long time to spend for the Christmas season in the Southern hemisphere, but it always tends to fly by so quickly. I almost want it to last longer, but then I think that would be bad because it’s like I am stalling regular life from happening.

Once Christmas ends, it’s also time for me to start thinking about what I want to do for the new year – what my goals will be for work and life, where I want to travel to, what books I want to read, what new activities I want to invest time in. 2013 was exhausting, frustrating, and dramatic, yet at the same time, it was also extremely productive in many ways. This year, my family and I lost my Ed and our family friend Bob, my best friend from college was diagnosed with cancer, I left my miserable job to start a new one, and I experienced a lot of personal growing pains with different people in my life. I’m not sure what will happen in 2014, but here’s to hoping that it will bring fulfilling experiences that will help make me a better, more well-rounded, and happier person. Life is too short to waste a minute of it.

Christmas is here, and so is my fuzzball’s 32nd birthday. Today was a day filled with food, laughter, loudness, photos, games, and happiness. Today was probably one of the most enjoyable Christmases I have ever had. Even when I thought of Ed today, I felt happy and hopeful. He isn’t with me anymore, but I still felt him all day long.

It’s the first Christmas he hasn’t been around for, the first Christmas I didn’t pick out a gift for him, the only Christmas when I didn’t speak with him at all – not even a phone call. It felt strange to call my parents on Christmas day, San Francisco time, and not ask to speak with him or hear his voice. I guess I will need to get used to it.

Every Christmas, I will think of him and all the thoughtful, beautiful gifts he gave me. I will remember us waking up in the same room, wishing each other merry Christmas, and exchanging gifts and unwrapping them together. I will think of and play with the Christmas ornaments he picked out for me, even when he knew we didn’t have a real Christmas tree to put them on at home. I will remember him playing Mariah Carey’s Merry Christmas album, in particular “Jesus Born on this Day,” which he would occasionally set on Repeat. My brother is a child of God. He now resides in the House of the Lord, forever. And one day, I will see him again.

Merry Christmas, Ed. I love you.

Once upon a time, making a Christmas list was a fun thing to do. When I was between the ages of 5 and 8, my parents would tell me to write a letter to Santa explaining to him that I had been a good girl that year, and then let him know what I wanted for Christmas. That was fun while it lasted…at least, until I realized Santa was fake, but because I wanted the gifts, I continued to pretend that “Santa” existed until my mother decided I was too old to believe in Santa anymore. So those lists came to an end.

Then when I started making friends in high school, someone suddenly decided it was fine for all of us to make Christmas “wish” lists. I never really thought this was a great idea because I don’t particularly like people telling me to buy things for them, but because I figured it was practical (and since I am Asian, I am by definition practical), I went along with it.

Christmas is about giving, sharing, togetherness, Christmas trees and decorations, bright sparkling lights, great food, and for those who are religious, Jesus’s birth (even if his real birth date actually is not the 25th of December, but that is another story for another time). If I have to participate in wish lists, it’s like it sucks out the fun and imagination of choosing a gift for someone I am supposed to love. And if you have someone you don’t like shopping for because they annoy you in some way, then why are you choosing to give that person a gift anyway? Practicality is one thing, but I don’t think that in itself should be the only reason that goes into choosing a gift for a loved one. Imagination and creativity should come through in the gifts we give, which then translate into love.

Ed would have been so pissed if I were to ever give him a list or tell him what to get me. He thinks it’s a sign of being childish and a bit greedy and ungrateful for what you have. My wise Ed.

Since I’ve arrived in Melbourne, I feel like I have been inundated by meeting after meeting that has included babies. Most of Chris’s friends are married and have children, so I guess I can’t really avoid the presence of babies. It’s not that I don’t like babies; I actually love seeing their faces with their fat little cheeks, and playing with them is always fun and makes me reminisce about simpler times. It’s more that I get really bored listening to baby talk. It’s as though I need to pretend I am interested in every tiny detail in every child’s life – what his first word was, where it happened, and when; what he likes and doesn’t like to eat; what his favorite toys or cartoon characters are; what his sleeping schedule is like and how easy he is when being put to sleep.

Once people have children, their lives tend to revolve around them, and their sense of individuality tends to go away because their main priority is their child. I can’t really blame them for that because your children should be your priority, but where is the balance between being a parent and being a real person with interests of one’s own? I never want to be the parent whose children completely consume her life, and I wouldn’t be able to talk about myself and my own desires and feelings about life.

Maybe one day, I will be the parent who decides that my career isn’t that important (likely because I may be fed up by corporate life and the inane expectations that men hold of working women, and worse, that other women hold of working women balancing motherhood) and reduce my hours to part-time, or just give up working in the corporate world in general. I never really “believed” in this before, but because I am getting closer to an age where children are a tangible reality, I am more empathetic of women who put their children before their career. Or maybe one day, I will learn to fully balance a full-time, rewarding career with raising my children; I’m honestly not sure yet. But one thing I know that I will strive to do is to retain my individuality and not become that mother who is just a mother. I still want to be all the other things I am – a wife, lover, daughter, niece, sister (I am still Ed’s sister even if he isn’t in our form), friend, colleague, helper, writer, photographer, card-maker, scrapbooker, organizer, cook, baker, and everything else I can’t remember right now.

Ed came to visit again. I guess it’s like a monthly thing for him now to pay me a visit when I least expect it and when I am not consciously asking.

In the first dream, he has said that he decided not to die. He was taking it upon himself to improve and build a better life for himself. He was planning on opening a business of some sort, either a restaurant or a store, and wanted me to be happy for him.

In the second dream, I know he is dead. When I walk into my parents’ sun room, actually filled with lots of sunlight for once, I see him there, standing and facing me. I burst into tears and run up to him to hold him, and he initially gets squeamish and tries to avoid me, but finally gives in because he knows I won’t take no for an answer. I am sobbing, telling him how much I miss him and wish he could be one of us again. I tell him I’m not sure I can be happy. He chuckles and tells me to stop being so dramatic.

And then I wake myself up crying. This is really exhausting. Is this going to be a regular way that I wake up for the rest of my life?