Diary of a Gen-Z Student: All of my siblings have emigrated, I'll miss the Christmas family chaos

Jane Cowan: "There’s something about having absent siblings when your parents are divorced that’s difficult to describe. In previous years, being passed between two houses throughout the festive season, was something I did with my siblings." Picture: Moya Nolan

So, this morning I pulled a name for our Secret Santa out of a hat. Well, it was a virtual hat, also known as a name drawing website. That’s the technical term.

Every year, my siblings and I organise a Secret Santa between ourselves. Though it never remains secret, as I tend to let the cat out of the bag within six minutes of drawing a name (sorry, guys!).

Because my siblings have all had the absolute audacity to emigrate to London, Melbourne and Sydney, to enjoy their young lives, our gift-giving ritual has been mediated by a virtual hat for years. I’m not pleased about it. Mainly, I’m jealous that every time I call one of them, they seem to be experiencing stunning weather, while I’m being assaulted by Dublin’s wind and rain.

But I also miss having a bit of chaos around the house, if I’m being mushy about it. This year will be the first Christmas where I am the only child (granted, an overgrown child) in the country. My sisters will be on some beach in Australia, enjoying a barbeque in between dips in the ocean. My brother will be enjoying Christmas in London with his soon-to-be wife. The cheek of them!

I know what I’m describing is nothing unique. Plenty of families are spread across different countries and continents. The great emigration of young Irish people to Australia in particular, means there will be absences around many Irish tables this Christmas (and extra sun stroke on Bondi beach).

I know they’re having a ball, but, selfishly, I’d just like if it could be had a little closer to home. If it could involve putting up the Christmas decorations together, or mulling some wine in the kitchen, that would be ideal.

There’s also something about having absent siblings when your parents are divorced that’s difficult to describe. In previous years, being passed between two houses throughout the festive season, was something I did with my siblings.

It was never particularly fun, but the company made it all a little easier. I relied heavily on them to make the to-and-fro more bearable. We would collectively decide which house to go to at what time, which gatherings to skip and attend. You were united in the head-melting logistics of it all. A lacklustre team in need of a good sit-down, grateful for the first person to muster up the courage to utter that glorious question ‘anyone ready to head home?’. Praise Jesus!

Jane Cowan: "This year will be the first Christmas where I am the only child (granted, an overgrown child) in the country. My sisters will be on some beach in Australia, enjoying a barbeque in between dips in the ocean."

Christmas looks different for everyone, I guess. In primary school, I used to look at friends with horror, as they described being forced to get dressed up and head to mass on Christmas morning with their families.

Meanwhile, I would enjoy a day in my pyjamas, performatively stirring a pot of gravy or cranberry sauce, the older siblings being told to peel carrots and potatoes, my mother doing the heavy lifting of actually making a dinner.

So, this year will be different. A little quieter, more use of FaceTime and WhatsApp, a smaller pot of gravy — that type of thing.

My most irrational fear is how long the leftover turkey will last, with so few people around to eat it. Most years, my mother gets so desperate for space in the fridge, that a turkey curry is put on the menu some time around December 27. But there’s only so much turkey curry the two of us can manage. I shudder to think about what roast turkey reincarnation will greet me on the 29th. And while my siblings are soaking in London’s Christmas lights or some Aussie sun damage, the closest they will come to said reincarnated turkey mystery is a photograph.

It seems that adaptability is the name of the game this festive season. The dinner table will look different. The turkey will hang around for longer. I won’t be able to pawn off the driving between both sides of the family to a sister. But the quietness of the house might also be nice.

If we’re straying from tradition, I might even manage to wriggle my way out of the annual Christmas morning sea swim (it’s what Jesus would want).

But you know what they say: too much change is too much. We’re aiming to keep up our most cherished traditions. The tree will soon be decorated. I'll happily drink mulled wine on behalf of my siblings.

And, oh yeah…my favourite tradition: Sean, I’m your Secret Santa! I apologise, but really, it was only a matter of time before it came out anyway...