It’s the day for celebrating light in Sweden: the tradition of Lucia.

As the child of a Swede that was intent on preserving tradition, I always knew what would come the morning of the 13th.

In the midst of the pitch black of a winter morning, my mother would gently knock on my door, the sign that I was meant to get up. Propping it open, she would walk away, leaving only the melodic sounds of Lucia sången coming from the downstairs speakers. I would rub my eyes and sleepily crawl out of bed. Outside of my door, a white robe was carefully hung, a thick red sash draped on top.

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