Under My Skin

I used to think why the hell Dumbledore would say he wanted socks for Christmas.

Forget about Deathly Hallows coming along and explaining that all. Let’s forget that ever happened. Let’s go back to the wondering days when we didn’t have answers. Dnowing isn’t always the answer, after all.

Anyways. I used to think that he was out of his mind not wishing for anything on Christmas from Santa. I used to think there were always material things that a person could want - money, books, games, technology, clothes, all the material things. And then, it turns out they don’t really matter. You become a sentimental person, and, sure, you ask for a few material things - just to keep your wardrobe and library updated, sure, but it’s nothing like the desire you felt for a gamecube when you were eight, the tickets to that thing you like - but it becomes an entirely different story when you’ve matured and realized that it’s not always material things.

The problem is, the material things are a lot easier to get.

We can always be happy with where we are in life, but can we ever be completely content, can we ever be so filled with absolute bliss, can we ever find the inner happiness that Buddha preached about? We can. The problem is, it’s not an easy thing to reach. Once we forget the material things, it seems happiness is easy to reach. It’s not. It never is. Let’s face it - we can’t do what Buddha preaches. We can fake ourselves into believing it, but most of us need the sentimental things - not to mention the material things - to be completely happy.

We need to want nothing more than a pair of socks for Christmas.

I don’t want socks for Christmas.

I don’t want material things for Christmas.

Santa can’t bring me the things I want down the chimney, nor can my aunts or uncles include it in the checks and the gift cards they send me.

I’m happy.

But I’m not getting socks this Christmas.