A Christmas Tale

There aren't many Christians in China, or much religion at all, which I guess comes with the territory of having a one-party government.

Got lights?

That being said, I've never seen Christmas decorations like I have here in Beijing. Seriously, it's insane the amount of trees, lights, window decals, glitter and music. It's a bittersweet feeling; I love hearing Christmas carols in our building lobby and in the Starbucks, but it makes me miss home. The shear size of some of these Christmas decorations is daunting, as are the number of workers needed to hang and wrap and assemble the accessories. On the tree outside of our building, for example, it took a mini crane and seven workers to hang balls on the giant tree. They then wrapped gold paper around the bottom, which has had trouble staying down on windy days.

The Christmas tree outside our apartment building.

The mall stores even have crazy Christmas sales and we've been told the holiday is a huge excuse for the Chinese to buy a slew of stuff. Commercialism rules, which isn't that different from the U.S.

Some of Beijing's holiday decor borders on Disney-esque. But I'm grateful for the displays: the holidays are always tough for someone who's away and it's comforting to see Christmas cheer from 7,000 miles away.

To make our apartment merry and bright, I went to Wal-Mart to buy a tree -- a fake one, because that's mainly what's here (China does manufacture the majority of fake Christmas trees). When I arrived, I was shocked by how few were left. Chinese women were fighting over the last tree of one model, with the woman who won defiantly gliding to the register, tree in hand, not bothering to put it in the box.

The display in our building lobby.

Seeing this, I quickly put a small tree into my cart, excited to still find one. It was $50, which, for Chinese prices seemed quite expensive for a fake Christmas tree (for comparison's sake, the average tree at Wal-Mart ran around $20). I tried to ask an employee why it was more expensive but her fast words and my less than mediocre vocabulary made the interaction futile. So I just decided to go ahead and buy the thing.

When I got home and assembled the tree, I realized why there was a higher price tag: I had shelled out $50 for a fiberoptic tree. The kind that turns hot pink and purple and yellow like a lava lamp, the kind that is so kitsch it can't even qualify as kitsch. Scott couldn't stop laughing when I turned it on.

I was planning to return it and went so far as taking it down, but then changed my mind after talking with my mom. After she finishing laughing hysterically, she told me to embrace the kitsch factor and do as the Chinese do. "You can have a plain, green Christmas tree for the rest of your life," she told me. "But you'll always have this memory." 

So I reassembled the tree and now each night I smile as I watch it change from pink to blue to yellow to violet. Behold, my fiberoptic tree. Merry Christmas! 

Twinkle, twinkle!