You're sitting at the edge of the room, the space around you well-decorated for the holidays. Your family may be Jewish by name, but you rarely pay much attention to that. During the holidays you exchange gifts, and your home is filled with all sorts of non-denominational winter decorations, silver and gold and patterned snowflakes even though you live in a part of California that rarely sees snow.
The noise is nearly overwhelming as it's not just your parents and siblings in the room - the entire family has been invited. You can't be more than 9 or 10, and you watch as your siblings and cousins run around the space, wrapping paper scattered everywhere. You rarely join them, much quieter and prone to staying to the edges to watch, and tonight is no different. The gift with your name still sits unopened in your lap, though no one seems to notice or care. You'll likely wait until the very end of the night to open it. It's heavy in your lap, and your best guess would be that it is books, which makes you smile.
The room continues to bustle around you, and you almost feel as if you aren't a part of it. Everyone else in your family has so much energy, is so willing to laugh and talk and shout if they need. It almost seems sometimes like you're different to them, but your hair mixes and matches with your mother's when she stops to wrap you in a perfume-scented hug, and you know that there can't be any question about where you belong.