For the first 12 years of my life, I lived in Monterrey, a vibrant city in northern Mexico where snow never falls, the idea of a white Christmas a mere state of mind. The coldest it ever got was five degrees Celsius — an unbearable temperature by Mexico’s standards. It was enough to send everyone indoors.
Each year we spent Christmas at my grandparents’ home, where we would sit and talk, waiting patiently to devour the feast prepared lovingly by my grandmother. She worked all day to prepare a meal of ensalada de nochebuena — a seasonal green salad complemented with strawberries and nuts, drizzled with a maple soy vinaigrette — and picadillo navideño — seasoned ground beef mixed with bacon, onions, bell peppers, raisins and almonds. Time was of no consequence during the festivities; an hour, sometimes two, would go by — with us chattering and laughing across the table — before emptying our plates.
After dinner, it didn’t matter how full our stomachs were, we couldn’t wait to play our Christmas games, filling the house with noise — and in hindsight, havoc. Our favourite was the Christmas unwrapping game — where a massive ball of wrapping paper would get passed around, and everyone had their turn to try to unwrap as much as they could to get to the treasure hidden at the centre. Even if the treasure was a mere 20-peso bill, the adrenaline rush, and seeing the look of defeat on my uncle’s face, made it worth it.
In 2011, my parents told us that we were packing our bags and moving to Canada. As a kid, it did not register that this was a permanent thing — not until I saw my grandfather beg my mother to stay. My mother loved her country, but the opportunities Canada could provide were more valuable in her eyes. We arrived in Edmonton at the tail end of summer, the colder seasons fast approaching.
I saw things through a grey filter after our move — including festivities. As much as gifts under the tree still excited me at 12 years old, there was an emptiness in knowing it would be my first Christmas without everyone we had left behind in Mexico. The laughter and screams that once filled my grandparents’ home were now replaced by quiet remarks shared inside a small, almost claustrophobic apartment.