During my childhood and teen years, Christmas was never a family affair.

My parents ran their own travel business and each
December they were busy taking the Christmas group on their unforgettable three weeks holiday.

My maternal grandparents would come and pick me up from boarding school and I would pass the holidays with them.

They were very kind and tried to compensate for my parents absence.

There was never a shortage of gifts under the tree from my parents, money too .

I saw my parents only two months a year but on the other hand, each year my stamp and postcard collection grew in volume and beauty.

When still a child, I would secretly pray each year I'd end up celebrating Christmas with my parents.

My wish was granted finally the year I turned 8.

It was a trial, my mother's brother would babysit the Christmas group , around 150 souls, and I got to have my parents.

It was our first ever Christmas together.

That year instead of receiving a postcard and a long-distance phone call, we bought an artificial tree and decorated it with golden ornaments.

I remember my heart was overflowing with happiness , we were a family and having my parents in the flesh was, hands down, the best Christmas gift of my entire life.

The next Christmas we shared, I was 17 but by then my heart had drifted away and I had learnt to stand alone. We were like three strangers it was very awkward, indeed.