Every year, as Christmas approaches, I find myself navigating the festive family diplomacy of our intercultural marriage. It's a delicate dance that starts with a seemingly simple question: 'So, where are we spending Christmas Day?'
My wife pulls out her diary. 'Right,' she says, 'let's work out the logistics.' For her family, it's straightforward - maximise the number of people, find the most convenient time, get everyone together. My family, though? Completely different story.
With my side, nothing happens until we've done the elaborate dance of indirect communication. 'I might be around these dates,' someone will say. Another will respond, 'I'll work around everyone else.' It's like watching a complex ballet of subtle hints and unspoken expectations, where everyone is dancing but no one's quite sure of the choreography.
