This memory takes me back to when I was six, living in Korea in my apartment on the first floor. It was a cold winter morning, but our home was warm and cozy. Right outside my window lay a winter wonderland, untouched snow having grown throughout the night. The snow fell like feathers, and the fluffy white blanket covered the ground, soft and magical. I woke up to a strange stillness, the silence of the morning and the peacefulness of knowing I was the only one awake.
My room had a natural glow, the light of the snow creeping in through the window. An almost foggy blue shine spilled into the quiet room, which felt frozen in time, as if untouched from the day before. The smell of morning dew mingled with the quiet hum of the dawn. My eyes popped open, and for a moment, I just lay there, basking in the stillness.
Toys were scattered across the carpet like a battlefield. Stuffed animals slumped, trapped in their frozen story, and my dollhouse sat waiting with its tiny figures for someone to bring it back to life. My desk was cluttered with stains of paint and creativity, unfinished projects piled high the beautiful chaos of a child’s mind. My colorful blankets were tangled, and small pillows lay rumpled in one corner, drooping onto the floor.
I couldn’t stay still. I flung my blankets aside and dashed to my brother’s room, I ran to wake my brother. He awoke and we ran toward the living room, but I stopped for a moment, holding my breath as if Santa himself might still be hiding in the shadows. The air was sweet and familiar, the scent of Christmas morning magic drifting faintly. I heard my brother overwhelmed with excitement. And then, I saw it.
The tree stood like a sparkling giant, its colorful lights reflecting off shiny ornaments, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that seemed to fill the entire room. Beneath it was a pile of presents wrapped in shiny paper, some towering over others like little buildings. My heart raced so fast I thought it might burst. My cheeks hurt from grinning, and my feet danced on the spot as I imagined what could be inside new toys, maybe even the one thing I’d been wishing for all year! The magic, the surprise, the endless possibilities felt overwhelming, as if I might float right off the ground.
But I knew I couldn’t open anything until my parents woke. I scurried like a mouse to their room, down the hall and around the corner. I burst through their door and jumped on their bed. As I landed on the soft mattress, my parents awoke startled by my excitement. They couldn’t help but imitate my joy. As they asked what I saw, my brother dashed into the room, and we yelled in unison, “Santa was here!” My mom and dad, amazed by the thought of Santa, hopped out of bed and followed us to the living room.
As we walked, the glow of the Christmas lights reflected on their faces, making them shine. My mom, caught up in my excitement, seemed suspiciously overjoyed. Could she be Santa? No, she’s a girl. The idea swirled in my mind, Is Santa real? Could my parents be behind it all? But I quickly pushed those thoughts aside as we raced back to the presents.
My mom started making coffee, and its rich, earthy aroma filled the air. It smelled like the forest on a cold, dewy morning mixed with the slight bitterness of dark chocolate. A smell that reminded me of my dad, a bittersweet yet comforting fragrance. When my mom returned with their mugs, we tore into our presents like hyenas.
Among the gifts was a letter addressed to me. My heart leaped with excitement, it felt like it held pure magic. I couldn’t believe it, Santa himself had written to me! But as I scanned the handwriting, something dawned on me. It looked suspiciously like my dad’s handwriting. Could it be… he was Santa?
Setting the letter aside, I picked up my stocking, its fluffy strings tied tight at the top. It was filled with small toys, boxes, and candy. The joy of pulling out one treasure after another made me forget all my suspicions.
I opened the rest of my presents, a grin spreading across my face as I saw everything I had wished for: a scooter with pink jelly handlebars, a doll with curly red hair and perfect freckles, her rosy cheeks framed by a baby pink dress with ruffles and glossy red shoes. She was beautiful. My brother tore into his action figures and monster trucks— »silly boy toys, » I thought smugly. Mine were sophisticated and mature.
After we finished, we bundled up and went outside. The cold air rushed to my cheeks, the snowflakes falling softly on my hair and face, like tiny icy kisses. I grabbed a handful of snow, hearing it crunch like crisps in my gloves. As we played, throwing snowballs and making snow angels, all thoughts of Santa’s true identity faded. I was just a kid, wrapped up inlayers, enjoying the pure magic and joy of Christmas day.