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Dear Wan Wan,

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Dear Wan Wan,

Christmas without you is like Christmas without snow.

I distinctly remember our second Christmas together. I was naïve, little seven-year-old, sitting by my doorstep in the freezing cold, with the hope that that year I could get a replacement for my old pink bicycle from Santa.

When you came to know what I was dreaming about, you laughed at me and slapped me with the truth that Santa isn’t real. I remember being so mad at you that I didn’t say a word, just cried my eyes out. Like always.

Truth is bitter. One way or another, it always hurts.

But look at me, Wan Wan, tonight again I am sitting at my doorstep, still waiting for Santa.

I never stopped believing in Santa. I just realized that there is no man dressed in red and white, distributing gifts to the good kids.

So every Christmas, I sit on the terrace or doorstep silently praying for my secret wishes to be fulfilled.

This was something you never knew about me. Well, now you do.

Maybe.

Merry Christmas.

Yours,
Snowflake.


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