Remembering my Santa Claus — halfway around the world

I just realized that Santa Claus is no more Santa. Actually, I just realized I did not believe in Santa a long time ago.

I remembered when I was six, I doubted how could an old man have such a good memory to buy all the presents for all the children. My grandpa was only 60 at that time and he began to forget things. How could Santa Claus know the pink scooter in the store my mum and I went to this afternoon was in my favorite shopping center?

When I was seven, I kept wondering why the little girl living on our street did not have any presents. She was really nice to me when sharing her only almost-torn teddy bear that she got from the trash can. She told me, “Homeless children do not get presents at Christmas.” I did not understand why Santa did not like the homeless children.

When I was eight, I thought it was ridiculous when people dressed up as Santa Claus and gave candies to children in the shopping malls, parks and fun fairs. I thought they wanted to replace Santa Claus and what they did was offensive to the real Santa. I did not know that was their way to earn a living.

When I was nine, I stop believed in Santa Claus when I saw my parents put the presents under my bed and my brother’s bed at Christmas Eve…

I thought about that night a lot. To me, it was something that put an end to my childhood. It felt like I just woke up from a dream where an old chubby man in red gives presents to every good child, everyone receives the same love, and nothing but happiness is present.

I was wrong. I regretted sneaking off to see Santa. I hated myself for completely believing in magic for such a long time. But then the memories from my childhood, like an oldie song, started playing in my mind. I have received so many presents — some priceless and many did not come from Santa Claus —  but from a different guy.

He always knows what I want, what I love and what I need. He was clumsy, but he was willing to spend three hours studying hair-braiding when I told him that I wanted my hair braided when I went to school. He did not buy me a boat with a remote control when I asked him to. Instead, he secretly made me a floatable and movable boat using a water bottle. That boat turned out to be the most special toy that no one in my class would have. He is the only one who could tell one story all night — again and again — as long as it made me happy.