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Orthodox But Still Christmas

Orthodox But Still Christmas

It doesn’t smell with Christmas, but I don’t want to cry. I light the candle and take a look in the window. I have got no Marlboro or Lucky Strike, so I keep staring at the window. Kettle is wide asleep and on Christmas day nobody wants to be violently disturbed. The window is wet from outside, the grass is still green in January. I don’t believe in Santa, but I have not got Uncle Frost’s mobile number. Sky is grey, day is short, same old routine instead of festive vibes and Christmas carols. I forget how to check my mailbox and looks like no one knows my address because I am not receiving Christmas cards. It doesn’t smell like Christmas at all…

It is raining on Orthodox Christmas and no one used to wish us Merry Orthodox Christmas. Probably this wish is added to the sanction list. I can only notice the people going to supermarket instead of a church. You can’t love if you only eat and don’t pray. The truth is that at some point I am tired from celebrating every holiday, especially if those holidays go in a chain. Celebration overlaps with daily routine and I get bored of both. The nature of working class is harsh: you still have to go to work even if you can’t stop partying.

A pair of snowflakes on Orthodox Christmas would be great, but we’ve got different hash-tags in our news feed. At these moments I want to be farer from everything that is boiling on the surface. On Christmas everything has to be quiet. Some social elements mixed fireworks with gun shots and bomb blasts, so we’ve got what we’ve got – squares full of protesting people who’s got nothing to celebrate anymore. It doesn’t smell like Christmas, so I start to smell the powder.

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