These days, my phone has been bombarded with emails, advertisements, headlines, all not-so-subtle reminders that the holidays are hot on our heels. The subject line of an email informs me that one of my favorite stores has just released their holiday line; a quick scroll through Facebook reminds me that Black Friday is only a couple of weeks away; and meanwhile, it’s snowing back home. Here, in Beijing, the leaves have just begun to change, only a few trees just now turning a mild yellow, a pale green. We haven’t even begun to see cold weather here—daily temps reaching up towards the sixties.

Dissonance rattles my brain as I try to discern these contradictions. How can it be that I feel the excitement in my heart for the holidays, but it hasn’t yet manifested here? It’s a feeling that’s hard to put into words.

I don’t think I ever could have anticipated just how hard it would be to watch the holidays pass by from the other side of the world, in a country that doesn’t really celebrate any of these holidays. Halloween went by without any noteworthiness. While my program hosted a costume competition, I had little to no interest in participating. We celebrated with greasy pizza and pumpkin “painting” (we were given permanent markers). The sad pumpkins, drawings on their face, still sit in the entryway to our floor, rotting from the inside out. Odd decorations still hang in quiet corners of the classrooms and hallways: a fuzzy, fake spider on a whiteboard, soft cobweb decoration dons the doorways.

I was coming down with a cold on Halloween. Being sick at college sucks, but I think being sick in another country is a multitude of levels worse. I can’t walk to the Walgreens down the hill to grab a box of Dayquil, can’t take a day off from classes to hole myself up in my room with nothing more than a box of tissues. I can’t hop on over to an urgent care—no, here, you have to brave the hour-long subway ride to the English-speaking hospital. After resting over that weekend, I felt infinitely better, but I wonder if I had actually gone to the hospital if my nose would still be running as I write this.

That being said, I wasn’t in the best mood on Halloween. Halloween isn’t my favorite holiday, but it always was my great grandmother’s favorite, and for that reason I’m still quite fond of it. I never had an unenjoyable Halloween as a child, even on the years that it snowed and sleeted the entire night. Something about Halloween in Dimondale especially will always be quite near to my heart.

Not being able to be in Dimondale, even Michigan, during Halloween was hard. I felt horrible physically, felt down emotionally. And as the days inch closer towards Thanksgiving and Black Friday, I loathe the fact that I won’t be home to celebrate. I cherish waking up early on Thanksgiving, the parade acting as background noise as I stand by my mom’s side making Thanksgiving dinner together. I love dressing up in warm fall clothes, the smell of some of my favorite dishes wafting through the house. I’ll miss racing down the stairs to greet my grandmother when she rings the doorbell, bearing turkey and desserts. I’ll miss watching her play with my cat in the living room, the atmosphere warm with family, graciousness, and gathering (and the candles we light once a year, too). I’ll really miss the post-meal relaxation, cuddled up on the couch with my sister watching her play video games, eventually pulled under into a slumber by the hands of my heated blanket.

Every Black Friday since I was young, I’ve accompanied my father through the crowded malls while he worked, bringing along something to entertain myself up until the moment we would go eat out for lunch. While it might seem like the smallest thing, it’s something I look forward to every year. From those days on, I get to enjoy an entire month at home, on break from school. I spend the days with my cat, feasting on Thanksgiving leftovers, catching up on TV shows, and even beginning to wrap presents.

I vividly remember a writing prompt from my sixth grade English class, in which we were instructed to write about our family’s traditions—holiday traditions or not. I sat in the computer lab, staring vacantly at the blank Word document in front of me. I couldn’t think of a single tradition my family had. I instead wrote about my family had no traditions (not true). I somehow managed to forget about how every Christmas Eve, my mom puts together a small gift for my sister and I (one thing is always pajamas. It’s fun to act like I’m still surprised when I see a new pair). I forgot about how we leave the 24-hour long A Christmas Story marathon on, a consistent backtrack from making Christmas Eve cookies, to opening presents on Christmas Day. I couldn’t remember that my sister has—and always will—play the role of “Santa” on Christmas Day, passing out everyone’s presents, making sure they’re handed out in the right order (yes, there is very much a special order for the presents in my house!). Even the small details, like listening to Christmas music in the car all the time with my dad, were neglected. And how could I forget going to dinner with my Grandpa Denny, Grandma Pam, and Aunt Jan for Christmas dinner?

Even in the last few years, my family’s adopted new holiday traditions that I’ll miss more than anything, like driving out to Birch Run to eat a stomach-ache inducing meal at Tony’s Restaurant, all of us leaving with the smoky scent of bacon clinging to every single fiber of our clothes when we leave. After that, we drive out to Frankenmuth, buying holiday chocolate and browsing for gifts at Bronner’s. It’s always so dark and cold by the time we’re heading back home, but my heart is so full with the spirit of the holidays (and my stomach is so full with greasy diner food, yay).

Homesickness manifests itself differently during this time of year. While I’ve felt homesick in a number of different ways since I got here, it hasn’t ever been this painful. As someone who lives for the holiday season and all that it brings, being on the opposite end of the world from my family—unable to join them in celebration—is a true test of my strength. Looking at the date, November 10^th, and subsequently looking outside the window I’m sitting in front of to be faced with blue skies, cool weather, and green trees is frustrating.

While studying abroad, I always try to understand different perspectives for issues I run into. I cannot deny that my program makes an effort to make students comfortable during the holidays, going as far as decorating and having activities for us. I also can’t ignore that I’ve made a second family here and that we have to rely on each other during the holidays, make our own new traditions. While I recognize these things, it’s still extremely hard to feel happy, joyous, as I move through this period. I want nothing more than to be at home. Right now, all I can do is go day by day, looking forward to the moment that my family and I can celebrate my homecoming with our own (late) “Christmas” celebration.