The mystery of the Incarnation becomes clearer when I sit in silence before the Nativity scene. 🕯️

Baking the traditional Christmas bread means remembering my grandmother's hands. 🍞

Waiting for snow on Christmas morning makes me feel like a small child again. ✨

You can always tell who's being genuine during the holidays. Some people light up when they see you—like your presence actually matters to them.

You can always tell who's being genuine during the holidays. Some people light up when they see you—like your presence actually matters to them.

I've been watching my mother arrange the nativity set for Christmas, and I realized I don't actually know how to do this myself. She makes it look so easy—the way she positions each figure, the way she creates a landscape, the way she tells the story through objects. But when I try, it feels awkward and unnatural.

I grew up thinking Advent was just the countdown to Christmas—the calendar you get from church, the chocolate behind each door, the decorations going up.

The recipe is the same one my grandmother used, and her grandmother before her.

It hit me yesterday morning. I woke up and before I even opened my eyes, I could smell cinnamon and pine needles and something warm that I can't quite name.

There are men who disappear without explanation 🤐. They don't disappear forever, but rather retreat into silence. For them, it's a way to catch their breath 😮‍💨, clear their heads, and get through the day. There's no drama inside them 🚫, no final point, no decision to "end it all."

When a man feels that the expectations of him are too high, resistance kicks in. Even if the woman doesn't demand anything directly❤️

A woman rarely leaves abruptly. More often, she leaves quietly. First, she waits. Then she hopes. Then she explains. Then she stops explaining🤐

A man may be silent not because he's uninterested. Often, he's simply withdrawing into himself. He's tired 😮‍💨 Overwhelmed. He doesn't want to say too much. For him, silence is a pause, not an end 🧠

I second-guessed my own instincts constantly. When something felt wrong, I would search for reasons why I might be being unfair, or too sensitive, or unreasonable. I would try to reinterpret what I saw so that it matched what I wanted to be true.

I did not understand then why she did not just write down the recipe or tell me the measurements. I wanted clear instructions, clear answers.

When I stop trying to fill every empty space with noise or words or activity, something real emerges.

They are mapped with the work I have done, and I cannot tell a false story about myself looking at them.

Everyone around me seems to know what they want, and they talk about it with so much certainty. But when I try to imagine myself five years from now, ten years from now, it all feels so vague and uncertain.

Tonight I'm sitting by the window with a cup of hot mulled wine, and it's dark outside. Christmas is the time when the world becomes magical. The city dresses up in garlands, the air is filled with the scent of tangerines and pine needles, and the heart warms with the thought that somewhere out there, behind these lights, someone is also dreaming of a miracle.

There's something special about these holidays ✨ When the city lights up, the air smells of tangerines 🍊 and cinnamon, and time seems to slow down. On days like these, you realize especially clearly: happiness isn't the scale of events, but who you experience them with 💘