Late night on Tuesday, January 5, 2020, after holding my breath for several hours waiting to know the outcome of the Georgia runoffs, I sat in the dark in front of the Christmas tree, soaking its irresistible loveliness for a final few moments: its sculptural shape illuminated by carefully-arranged tiny twinkling lights; the combination of kitschy, exquisite, and child-made ornaments; the strands of cranberries; the origami garland my sister made for us this year. This tree gave me much joy this Advent and Christmas, its treasures filling my need for beauty and whimsy, as our local and broader communities creaked under the weight of politics, of the pandemic.

Many of us are not passively waiting, but actively searching and advocating for ourselves and for others. And yet the longer our wait drags on, the harder it is to keep waiting. We realize that our efforts can only get us so far—there is only so much in our control. Waiting is exhausting.

A few weeks ago I returned to Malaysia to visit family, and - lo and behold! - discovered that my mom had planted three coconut trees in the front yard. The coconuts require lots of tender, loving care, demanding precise amounts of fertilizing for a few years before it can bear fruit, before we can enjoy cooling, sweet, fresh coconut!

When I was a kid, Advent was an exciting time. Mostly because it was leading up to the reason for the season: Santa Claus and presents. What? Don’t @ me. Now, as an adult, mostly I feel dread and annoyance. I hate presents. I hate shopping. I hate the cold. And apparently, I really hate joy and happiness.