
Well, I don’t anymore! Or at least not in the way society wants me to.
I realized a long time ago what they were really all about. At first, I used to dismiss them as Hallmark holidays, those designed to keep the tills ringing and people distracted. But now I see them for what they really are: mass programming, a sort of ritualized consumerism where meaning gets buried under piles of wrapping paper, “special offers,” and forced cheer.
And I don’t just mean Christmas. Oh no, the circus runs all year:
- Birthdays – where people expect a parade just because they’ve managed to stay alive another year. I still make gifts for friends, though.
- Easter – when the shops are stacked floor to ceiling with chocolate eggs (that somehow cost more than a whole chicken dinner).
- Valentine’s Day – roses triple in price, restaurants cram couples in like cattle, and you’re told love must be proven with a card and overpriced wine.
- Mother’s/Father’s Day – another excuse to guilt people into buying tat.
- And don’t even start me on Halloween, Paddy’s Day, or Black Friday – half the country losing its mind over costumes, shamrocks, or flat-screen TVs.
In Ireland, it’s a sight to behold, mad dashes to the shops, trolleys piled like it’s the famine all over again, except this time it’s not spuds they’re after but gin, roses, or giant chocolate bunnies. Forced jollity, plastic sentiment, and the idea that unless you’re buying something, you’re “missing out.”
That’s not to say I don’t celebrate at all; I just celebrate differently. I’ll take a quiet walk in nature, light a candle for the ones I love, cook something simple, or just let the day be what it is without attaching all the weight of expectation.
To me, that feels far more real than fighting queues and playing along with the madness. Maybe that sounds rebellious, but sometimes the best way to celebrate is simply by not playing the game. A mug of tea, a bit of peace, and no glittery nonsense in sight, that’s my kind of holiday.
Mae 🧡

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