By Isabel Schwartz

Christmas always brings conflicting feelings for me—a sense of nostalgia for home and yet disdain for its now rampant commercialism.

I have a love-hate relationship with Christmas， and Beijing made it easier to escape the holiday stress， simply because there were no expectations， emotional or material-wise. “There is a lot of sweetness in Christmas， and here in Beijing， I can appreciate its being because the wrappings are gone，” I wrote in a Christmas card to my sister during my fi rst year in Beijing.

I also received a Christmas card from dear family friends. “Christmas is a time of traditions and memories. But， it is also a time of love and friendship. As you celebrate a half a world away we know that old traditions and new friendships will fi nd a place in your heart.”

Meanwhile， Christmas， to most Beijingers， was only about some decorations and a little partying with no emotional involvement.

I attempted to get into the Christmas spirit by stringing some lights on some decorative twigs in my apartment as well as adding some baubles. When I offered our security guard a box of chocolates， he hid in the guardhouse.

I also bought some China-themed gifts for my family， as well as some gifts for my Chinese friends and colleagues. I found gifts to be an effective way of getting to know them a little better and breaking down the sometimes steely fa？ade.

Yet despite being “on holiday” from the Holidays， I couldnt completely free myself from the shackles of Christmas stress. To my dismay， I discovered that the tiny tubes of wrapping paper I had bought only contained enough paper to wrap one gift each.

I also caused a bit of a public spectacle at the post office with all my parcels and envelopes. The woman standing next to me took great interest in what I was writing on my envelopes. Indeed， in China， I sometimes feel like an exotic angelfi sh in a tank.

My fi rst Christmas in Beijing was surreal. The waiters and waitresses wearing antlers or Santa Claus hats and office Christmas lunches did make me feel a little closer to home.

A Chinese friend invited me to spend Christmas Eve in a massage parlor which looked like a Roman temple with Latin inscriptions on its fa？ade—not quite the American-style Christmas I was used to. Inside， there were chandeliers and a plastic Christmas tree bogged down with decorations. Several women in Santa Claus caps and fur-lined shawls were stationed at the entrance.

After the massage session， my friend and I watched a live coverage of the variety show going on downstairs. The show featured lots of slapstick； a man dressed as the Monkey King， girls in Santa caps and miniskirts singing shrilly， and my masseur now moonlighting as an acrobat， doing a balancing act with a porcelain fl ower pot.

Over the years in China， I have come to enjoy the unique quirks that come with the festive season in China. Last Christmas， my Chinese boyfriend and I traveled to his hometown in rural northwest China. When we arrived at the train station， we were greeted with a lot of stares because of the Santa Claus caps we were wearing， and my boyfriends father was curious what the caps were about， so I tried to explain the concept of Santa Claus to him. I think he understood， and my gifts for the family were gleefully unwrapped.

I have fi nally made peace with my feelings for the holidays， and Santa was the key to it all： a bearer of gifts and goodwill， and a concept that could be universally understood. In my native United States， it just happened to be personified by a jolly old man with a beard. Yes， there is a Santa Claus！