Christmas is not a Chinese tradition, and we are not Christians, either. Before Pearl started primary school, however, she believed in the magic of the western festival, having been exposed to a lot of kids’ literature about it, books and TV shows.

Since Pearl was fascinated by the whole thing, her mum and I did not ruin the wonder. We did not tell her, like other Chinese parents, that Santa Claus is a fictitious character. Rather, we took advantage of the annual occasion to have her heart’s desire met on Christmas morning. The idea of a white-bearded grandad coming and delivering the gifts mesmerized Pearl.

We did not have a Christmas tree in the house; neither was there any Christmas party. The first year we “marked” the festival, we bought what Pearl wished for and stuffed them in a sock. Reading her daily bedtime story with Pearl comfortably tucked in bed on Christmas eve, I announced to her, matter-of-factly, that we had got a message from Santa that the benevolent grandad would be descending upon our home personally with gifts for her the very night. You can imagine the little girl’s thrill when she heard the news.

The next morning, while washing up in the toilet, I heard an exclamation coming from Pearl’s room. “Come over, Dad!”

Right away, I rushed over to her bedside. Sitting up in bed, gripping a bulging sock in her hands, Pearl could not contain her glee.

“Santa came during the night, Dad!” she yelled.

I still recall the sparkles in Pearl’s eyes that first magical Christmas our family had ever celebrated. The enchanting yearly moment lasted until Pearl was well read enough about the entire thing in primary school.