Another Christmas day has arrived. The presents have been unwrapped and my stepson is zoned out on a new video game; all in all, a good end to the year. I'll chalk it up as a win. Wins are hard to come by these days.

As I sit here in front of the laptop with the babble of electronic battle hooting and blatting in the background, I can't help but think back to a Christmas some twenty-odd years ago; to waking up alone in my tiny, one-bedroom apartment with a hangover and nothing in the cupboards. I can remember wrapping myself in a blanket and scraping away some of the ice on the inside of the window so that I could look out at the street. I was hoping that someone would be walking past so I could yell out, "You there! What day is this?" a la Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, but no such luck. The streets were empty, and the sidewalk was populated only by a single, curling twist of blowing snow that snaked past the window and disintegrated against a powdery dune of white that barred its path. The world outside the glass was cold and ice and desolation, just like the world within.

I hunched over the toilet and threw up the bitter remains of last night's booze, a bottle of Moody Blue (five bucks for a magnum, it couldn't be beat) and when I was finally done worshiping the porcelain god, I lay curled up on the faded tiles and I considered my options. It was Christmas Day, and everything was closed up tight. The rest of the world was nestled inside cozy houses, opening presents and sipping coffee, taking pictures and munching on goodies while they exclaimed over what a fine and wonderful Christmas it had been that year. I had fifteen bucks and change to my name, and that was it; what I might do tomorrow to stay alive was up for question, and the day after that would simply have to wait its turn to kick me in the teeth.

The nausea passed and hunger set in. I hadn't eaten anything in about eighteen hours, and my poor, sour little stomach was twisting and rumbling so hard it almost brought tears to my eyes. I could only think of one place that would be open on Christmas, a substandard Chinese buffet of infamously dubious quality - but still, dubious or not, it was a buffet, and with tax included, I just barely had enough cash to cover the cost of a plate. Ever the survivor, I quickly devised a plan; I would bring a plastic grocery bag in my coat pocket, and before I left, I'd dump a plateful of whatever offered the most nutritional value in there when no one was looking. Stuff myself, bring some home, eat again tomorrow, and the next day would take care of itself. It was foolproof.

The buses were only running once an hour, being a holiday, but seeing as how I couldn't spare even a thin dime for the fare, I set out on two feet and a heartbeat. The buffet was almost an hour away on foot, and the sidewalks were buried under snow. I struggled and sweated in the frigid cold, my head aching and my legs trembling from lack of blood sugar, and at one point I feared that I simply wouldn't make it: that I would falter in my next step and collapse into a snow drift, and that would be that. Everything hurt, and the entire world was bleak shades of grey beneath the unforgiving sky. I focused all my energy on moving one frozen foot in front of the other, an exhausting pattern of pick it up and put it down, pick it up and put it down.

And then I was stumbling through the doors of the buffet, and the warm air stung my cheeks like needles. I walked up to the counter and pulled my money from my pocket with fingers like icicles. The smell of the mediocre Chinese fare awaiting me in the dining area made me shake uncontrollably. I fished out the five, and the change ... but the ten wasn't there. I checked all my pockets with mounting horror, but the fucking thing simply wasn't fucking there. It had disappeared without a trace. Fallen, forgotten, gone. I didn't have enough money to eat.

I held out what I had left to the cashier in both hands, but he was shaking his head no before I could even speak. He crossed his arms and stared and waited. It took me a few seconds to realize that he was waiting for me to turn the fuck around and get my no-money-having pauper ass the fuck out.

There was nothing I could say. I turned around and walked out the door, back into the cold, back into the grey, swirling purgatory where no one saw me and no one cared. And I welcomed it. Because, at that moment, I didn't want to be seen by living eyes. I didn't want to exist. I wanted to slump out into the winter beyond those glass doors and melt into the icy air, to lose form and dissipate into a colorless haze that would be blown to the four corners of world.

But that didn't happen. What actually happened is this - I stopped at a gas station variety and bought a package of Mr. Noodles and some smokes. I went back to my tiny apartment and ate the noodles and smoked the cigarettes as I stared out that frosted window, sitting and smoking and hating a world that was cold and uncaring and devoid of mercy. I got hungry again very quickly, but there was nothing to be done about it. I smoked and watched and hated, and Christmas day eventually faded into night, and I fell unconscious from sheer exhaustion on my worn-out couch with my heart aching and my stomach begging for food.

And there is nothing more I can say about that, except that I woke up the next day, and the day after that, too. Because, even though I may very well be something of a piss-poor human being, I'm a survivor. And a survivor is the very best thing a person can be.

I sit here and look back on that day as my stepson hoots and rattles away on his Xbox, and I hope with all my being that his belly will never ache from hunger, and his soul will always be full of wonder. I think of all the others who will go without, on this day and on many others, and my joy at being surrounded by love is dampened by the memories of my sorrows, each one counted, quantified and filed away in the library of my heart. In the end, I suppose this is not necessarily a bad thing; after all, there is no daylight without darkness, no joy without pain, and the ghosts of Christmas past will always be restless. Listen to their mournful cries carefully, because the echoes of the past will illuminate your future.

Merry Christmas out there, folks. Love thy neighbor, do unto others as you'd have them do unto you, and draw those who are near to you even closer, always closer. Be grateful for the small victories, and live your life in a manner that will not shame you after you're gone.

Take care of yourselves, people, and take care of each other. Above all, be kind. Because kindness is free, and it's right, and it's pure. Stay pure, friends. Spread the kindness in your hearts, and make the world a better place.