My First Christmas

This is my first Christmas in many ways: it's my first Christmas away from home, it's my first Christmas away from my parents, and in many respects it's the first Christmas I forgot to celebrate. Maybe because of all those previous firsts it's hard to remember how to celebrate. So here I sit in my brother and sister-in-laws home after dutifully taking my meds for another cold, sipping hot water and honey and watching the winter sun lighten patches of ancient Japanese forests. You may think the description "winter sun" too poetic, but really it's the only way to describe the greyish glow that only winter suns have. It brings with it a warmth all it's own and when it touches snow-dusted forests on mountains you have to crane your neck to see the tops of, that's a Christmas joy in and of itself.  I miss my family, and I miss my church. I miss the excitement in the air and wondering about the Christmas wish about to come true just as soon as you rip open that wrapping, but I'm beginning to treasure this time of missing, this uncluttering. 
So, while there are no stockings hung with care, or sugar cookies with the amount of frosting only holiday stomachs can endure, I'm still celebrating. It's not traditional or even familiar and I am still boycotting the song, "I'll be home for Christmas" for tearful reasons, but it's uncluttered. Just me, a mug, a foreign country, and a winter sun. Sometimes being devoid of holiday traditions is the only way to remember why you celebrate in the first place. Sound cliche? Not while I'm staring at this view.