On the cusp of a new year, my favorite holiday in the world passes me by once again and with it comes that ever familiar sadness. You wouldn’t believe me when I say I come from a big family, but I do. I never met my father as is the case in too many black families across the United States. My mother and I are estranged due entirely to her greed and shortsightedness. My sister didn’t even bother to say, "Happy Birthday!" or call and check up on me just to see how I am doing. I can’t blame her, though. My eldest brother I haven’t seen in decades and my youngest brother just fell off the family map with not so much as a goodbye.

Just one more brother left. He lives somewhere in California living the high life. Not one of them was with me for my favorite season. No, I spent my Christmas Eve watching a Chinese drama while my soul mourned memories of the past. I remember Christmases in Chicago when the snow was tall and the cold was unforgiving of careless children who didn’t put on their gloves, scarves, and hats. I remember the shiny tinsel, the blinking Christmas lights, and the candy canes all hanging on a tree that seemed larger than life. Big meals, which took all day to make and the smooth white 8 seater dining table that graced our double-wide trailer on 86 Clayshire Drive, I remember. The evidence of decades past is floating around somewhere among my so-called "big family", but that’s not why the holidays hurt.

Last year I was on the verge of marriage and babies, or so I thought. As someone recently said, I dodged a bullet when I had a miscarriage. I was home alone, in my second to last semester of my then Master’s degree. I remember the pain and embarrassment…hell, I didn’t even go to the hospital. Another failed attempt at a relationship ended not too long after that. I guess it was my fault. I would have given anything to have my own family by now, but not now. I’m content to be alone. I might as well be since it’s the story of my life, right?

Holidays hurt because things aren’t what they use to be. Call me old-fashioned but I loved when whole neighborhoods decorated for the holidays. When massive snowball fights broke out and everyone forgot about their cares and went outside to play. Old and young, male and female, chilled hands and icy toes; where did they go? I do admit, I’ve never had chestnuts roasting over an open fire and I have never witnessed a Christmas parade. If it wasn’t for Facebook reminding everyone that it was my birthday, I’d still be telling the world I’m still here.

What hurts about the holidays is the family, my family. The fact that there are people in the world who have no one and nothing but their family and yet they are happy. I witness every year friends who are so blessed and yet don’t truly know how much. So what’s wrong with my family? I’d give up all the pain of the past, all the petty arguments and years of silence, just to go back to those family meals. Sneaking food while mom said the blessing and those movie nights that were a pile of blankets, arms, legs, dogs, and cats. Holidays hurt because my family doesn’t want to be a family.

Auntie Ashanti, she’s gonna be alright. Like a cat, I always land on my feet. You stay tuned though as next week I bring you another set of memories from another time. Next week in light of the upcoming Chinese New Year, join me as I recap my first time to China, the places visited and the friends I met along the way. I’ll share some of my favorite photos and some wild stories. Until then…be good or be good at it!