What I don't want for Christmas

I don't want a perfume and a body spray from the same brand that come in a transparent case bigger than the bottles themselves. I don't want the cardboard, plastic, and wrapping paper scraps to be bigger than the gift. I don't want an "experience" bought in haste now and only valid in February. I don't want a scarf or gloves, I don't want anything with a receipt "in case it needs to be exchanged." I don't want to exchange anything. I don't want anything delivered by an Amazon delivery person, I don't want anything bought in a rush and under stress, I don't want it wrapped hastily and carelessly. I don't want anything. usefulSomething I can use for housework, like an air fryer. I don't want anything that costs pennies. Anything that costs pennies (wine, clothes, flowers to plant, oil, a restaurant), when I can, I'll treat myself to. The gift doesn't have to be now. Let it be another day, an unexpected day.

I want a little peace, I want a quiet table, I want smiles when I arrive, I want someone to ask me how I'm doing, I want to laugh over a glass of wine with the people I like because they like me. "I would give myself to whoever loved me," said the moving Palau i Fabre. I want to go to a table where I'm welcome and they tell me so. I want to share, more than ever, bread, oil, wine, words, and music. I don't need any gift where I see the formality, the boredom. I don't want any gift that I have to explain is incredibly expensive. I love the things I don't need, but right now I'm going to ask for the things I do need. I have finally reached that stage where you ask—but without hypocrisy, with complete sincerity—for some warmth and some immateriality. I have finally reached that stage where you ask—but without hypocrisy, with complete sincerity—that next year we can all be together, and, only if it's for the best, in the same way.

Merry Christmas and may the Tió (Christmas log) drop few things on you. Only what fits in its belly.