I'm not a Christian myself. Living in a small town in a country where snow was a distant dream, my non-Christian upbringing didn't stop me from eagerly awaiting the Christmas Eve, when the arrival of a man in the red suit was a promise, until I was a good seven years old. 

It all kicked off with the start of school vacation – the year-end exams were done, and the promise of a fresh grade in the upcoming school year was in the air.

I'd come home from the last day of school, my school bag heavy with new textbooks we had gotten from the school for the new school year. Then, with a grin on my face, I'd happily tear the calendar page off to December (It didn't matter which day we were in of November), hanging from a nail on the wall, and count down the days until Christmas.

With the vacation officially in full swing, mornings meant one thing back then: kids' movies on every channel. You'd drag yourself out of bed around 9, park yourself in front of the TV, and start watching movies half-asleep. Mom would holler at you three times to grab breakfast, and by the fourth, she'd show up with a plate and a side of scolding.

The days meandered by in this lazy, movie-filled haze until, suddenly, it was time for New Year shopping. The best part for me? Buying new stationery for the upcoming school term in a new grade.

Delving into those plastic baskets, searching for the fanciest pencil case or pencil boxes with mind-blowing gadgets, buying new books, and fancy printed wrappers to cover them – those were the golden days.

And, of course, the excitement of getting fabric for a new school uniform that my granny would sew herself as my New Year gift.

We had no snow, no snowmen, and no Christmas trees around here.The closest thing to a Christmas tree you'd see was one of those waist-tall plastic pine shrubs in front of a store, adorned with a few bulbs.

Cotton balls that looked more like cloud candy that the maker had forgotten to add colouring than whity cold snow, accompanied those stencilled letters cut out of cardboard. They stayed stuck to the stores' glass doors spelling out "Merry Christmas" and "Happy New Year," lacking the festive feeling, but it didn't dampen my holiday spirit.

The absolute best part of the Christmas season and holidays was Christmas Eve. That magical night when Santa would leave a present under your pillow or at the foot of your bed. 

During one of those shopping sprees, I even managed to acquire a bed cover printed with jolly old Santa Claus, and you bet, I immediately dedicated it to Christmas Eves. Since then, every Christmas Eve, I'd tuck myself into bed, snug as a bug, surrounded by the festive cheer of Santa's smiling face on those covers.

Now, I had no idea about the tradition of writing a letter to Santa and putting it in a sock hanging by the fireplace. We didn't have a fireplace to begin with.

So I used this self invented method of 'Sata Telepathy'. I'd sent metal signals to the plump old man with a long snowy beard that looked like a ripe tomato in his fancy red suit, making my wishes loud and clear. I'd even do it for a week straight, just to make sure he got the memo amidst the sea of signals from kids worldwide.

Although I never knew the origin story of Santa Claus until years later when I became quite the adult, it didn't bother me back then. I was sure he was there somewhere in the North Pole(I had learned that much by watching movies) and would drop by to deliver my gift. I was an overall good kid, aware that Santa had a list of good and naughty children. 

The only snag with Santa and his gifts was that whatever I asked him to bring, he would bring something quite different from my wish. One year, I asked for a baby brother, and I got a puzzle set. Meh, who cares? I still got a gift, so it didn't matter. Even when I once got a robot that shot colourful small Styrofoam disks (and scared me half to death), I wasn't really mad. 

He would always leave me a letter asking me to be a good girl just so he could visit me the following year too. Oddly enough, those letters and gift always used to carry a faint scent of my dad's cologne, and years later, I realised that Santa's and my mom's handwriting were remarkably identical.

Despite knowing all the secrets of Santa now, fifteen years later, it still brings joy to me. The anticipation, the surprises, and the joy of waking up to a gift on Christmas morning – those memories remain the best part of the holiday season. It makes me want to be a child all over again.

A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year ya'll! 🎄🎁🎅