Merry, Magic, Multilingual
A tale of five languages, countless memories, shared traditions, unexpected heartbreak, and the beautiful, messy magic that brings a family together each Christmas.
“Christmas is when five languages stumble, laugh, and somehow find one meaning: love.” ~Goodmoodism
Before the story begins, I need to share something I never imagined writing.
Our sweet Y. passed away suddenly on 28.11.2025.
We are all heartbroken, especially my sister and her family, and we are still trying to understand how something so sudden could happen. We knew he had health issues and that his life might be shorter, but he was doing okay, and nothing prepared us for losing him like this.
I decided not to change anything in the story below, because when I wrote it, he was still here with us. And in my heart, he still is.
I didn’t spend as much time with him as others did, but this year, at the end of July and the beginning of August, I traveled to England for a family emergency, and during those two weeks I took care of him every day. Those days became the reason we bonded so deeply. Feeding him, tucking his blanket over him because he loved feeling warm and wrapped, moving his bed into the sunshine because that’s where he felt happiest, all these small routines connected us.
And his eyes… the sweetest eyes I have ever seen, full of softness and knowing.
I’m certain he felt that I was going through a difficult time too, and somehow he understood without words. That gentle understanding created a bond between us that I will always carry with me.
Y. wasn’t just any dog. He was a Thai Ridgeback, smaller than the usual ones, with the most beautiful color and a face that melted you on sight. The most handsome boy.
Whenever we took him outside, people didn’t just smile because they saw a dog; they truly noticed him. He received real compliments, again and again, how beautiful he was, how striking, how good-looking. I don’t know a single human or animal who has ever received so many genuine compliments just by walking down the street.
His birthday was on 12.12. He would have been six years old.
So I’m sharing this story exactly as it was written, with him still here, curled in his corner, still part of our family Christmas. I miss him more than I can express.
…
Christmas is very special for us because it’s the one time most years when my whole family manages to gather together. We live scattered across different countries: my parents and youngest sister in Sweden, my middle sister in England, and I live in Germany.
This has been our rhythm for many years. So, no matter what, when Christmas comes around, we try our best to meet during this season, because time together feels rare and precious. And usually, it’s also a little easier for everyone to take time off.
Before my middle sister and her partner got a dog, and before my nephews were born, we mostly went to Sweden and stayed with my parents. Back then, my youngest sister was living in England too, but now she’s back in Sweden with her partner.
Those days were messy, loud, crowded, perfect, and beautifully chaotic. We loved it so much.
Eight adults squeezed into my parents’ apartment for ten days: two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, a living room, and a balcony. Sometimes even my two cousins joined too.
You might think, how could all those grown-ups fit in that place? It sounds impossible, but it was possible. You’d think it would drive us crazy, and it did, but somehow, we loved it anyway.
It was cozy. Warm. Full of laughter. Full of love. We played, we danced, we cried, we argued, we hugged, we got drunk, and we ate. Oh, we ate so well.
We celebrate Christmas not because it’s our tradition, but because we’ve lived in Europe for a very long time, and it’s something special for my youngest sister, who’s grown up in Sweden since she was six.
Our partners are not Persian like us, and for them, it’s a special Christmas celebrated in a not-so-traditional way.
Somewhere along the way, Christmas became special for me, because it means family. Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas. But without my family, I probably wouldn’t celebrate it in the same way, with all the lovely decorations, the tree, the food, and the little rituals that make it ours. But with them, it becomes magical.
The multilingual chaos is a story of its own. There’s always a mix of five languages flying around, and it can get hilariously confusing.
A house full of grown-ups speaking not all five languages, but maybe two or three of them: Persian, English, Swedish, German, and Azari, the language my parents usually speak together, which my sisters and I can understand but not speak.
One moment I might accidentally speak German to my sister, who doesn’t understand a word, or speak English to my parents instead of Persian.
Someone might try to translate for someone else but end up saying it in the very language the other doesn’t understand. We all stare at each other for a second, then burst into laughter.
And speaking of food, well, it’s never just traditional Christmas food. Sure, there are some classics, but we can’t help ourselves. There’s always a touch of Persian flavor or something completely unexpected that doesn’t normally belong on a Christmas table.
Sometimes it’s Persian rice with saffron and tahdig sitting next to Swedish meatballs, maybe something German or English in between.
Sometimes roast lamb with pomegranate, sometimes cookies that have no business being called Christmas cookies but taste magical anyway and end up on the table. Everything is homemade, even the sweets.
My sisters are the real masterminds: they plan, decorate, and cook. I stay on the sidelines as the assistant, happily following orders: “Cut this, stir that, do this, do that.”
I love my role.
We watch cozy films, the classics that carry all our childhood memories. My parents love having us home, and for a few days, it feels like time slows down and we all get to be little children again.
Since my middle sister and her partner had kids, and their dog Y., we’ve been celebrating in England since 2019. It’s easier for them, and the kids are more comfortable at home. Plus, Y. could join the Christmas fun and didn’t have to stay with a dog-sitter.
We changed our old tradition of Secret Santa, giving one big gift to only one person, into giving everyone a small gift, around £10 each. It’s sweeter this way, more magical, and everyone ends up with more surprises. The routine rarely changes, but somehow it never feels the same.
The house becomes a wonderland. My sisters decorate beautifully with my mom.
My youngest sister works culinary magic, making savory and sweet dishes that sometimes overwhelm her, but she loves it.
My middle sister is just as creative in cooking, though she says baking isn’t her thing.
I prefer helping; big planning overwhelms me, so I happily assist.
My dad floats in and out, making jokes, annoying my mom, and then disappearing to his own space.
The partners stay calm, help when needed, and mostly let us do our thing.
My mom is always in the middle of it all, the most creative of us, keeping the flow going.
My sister and her partner’s house in England is like something out of a cozy storybook, a beautiful cottage with vintage charm, a fireplace, soft lights, and a big garden.
Their love for vintage makes their home feel like an antique shop.
A fireplace crackles in the evenings, and after dinner, we gather with tea and sweets, wrapped in blankets, sitting around the fire, watching movies or just talking and laughing.
And then there’s my nephew O., the heart of the celebration. Watching him unwrap gifts with that pure joy only kids have is everything. This year is extra special: baby M., his little one-year-old brother, will celebrate his second Christmas, but this time he will be able to join the celebration, as he was just a few months old the first time around.
I can’t wait for that little smiling machine to see the tree with his wide blue eyes, the glowing Christmas tree decorated so beautifully by my sister. I can’t wait to see him open his gifts. I can’t wait to watch my two nephews share this second Christmas together, opening their gifts and having fun.
For Y., it is always a bit of a difficult time, because his usual resting spot, where his bed normally stays, is exactly where the Christmas tree goes. And I’m sure, in his dog’s mind, he always wonders why these crazy people come every once in a while for such a long time, and then leave all at the same time.
On the 24th, we make a combination of Swedish, German, and English food, always with a Persian touch.
Grown-ups open their gifts on the 24th, while the kids get two gifts, on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.
On the 25th, we wear cozy pajamas, take pictures, prepare a traditional English-style Christmas dinner, and gather again by the fire with more food, sweets, and of course, eggnog. Full, happy, tired, and content.
Two full days of eating, laughing, helping, playing roles, arguing a little, and loving a lot. Simply feeling warm, safe, and happy.
It’s not always easy having all these grown-ups in one place. Arguments happen, but that’s part of life. We’re a family: different people, same love. It’s us, imperfect, loud, funny, and warm.
For me, that’s the real magic of Christmas. Not the gifts or the food or the decorations, but the moments that bring us back to each other, no matter how far we’ve drifted.
Maybe that’s what I love most about Christmas. It reminds me that no matter how much changes, some things stay the same: the laughter, the warmth, the feeling of home.
I can’t wait for the beautiful memories we’ll create this year.
Wishing you all a joyful, cozy, and unforgettable holiday season.
With a jolly yet grieving smile,
GOO:DMOO:DISN
P.S. Rest in peace, our beautiful Y. You are missed more than words can ever say. I love you.