By Mignon du Plessis

This year marks our seventh Christmas in Canada, and without a doubt it is the hardest one yet.

Maybe it is the seven-year itch – I don’t know. But this year, seeing families on social media together around long tables, full of people, noise and shared history, while we sit at our small Christmas table as a family of five … is tough.

It made me wonder: Why now? Why seven years? Why does this year feel so much harder?

And here is my theory.

This year is the first time it feels like we have done everything we came for.

We got the job.

We renewed the work visas.

We applied for permanent residency.

We had a second baby.

We got PR.

We moved to the province and town where we had always wanted to live.

We started a new business.

We started new jobs.

We applied for citizenship.

We got citizenship

We had a third baby.

We survived a year of working full-time, running a business full-time and raising children full-time.

And now … it is over.

This is our life now.

And suddenly it is quiet.

The storm has subsided, and what remains feels strangely peaceful.

I think it is like a marriage – that seven-year phase where the newness wears off. You are settled. It is no longer the “new country” or the “temporary home”. It is the place where we stayed the longest in the past 15 years. It is where life happens – day in and day out.

And even though this life is good, there comes a realisation with it.

This life does not include our people.

No nieces and nephews.

No aunts.

No uncles.

No grandmothers and grandfathers.

No friends who know stories from your childhood.

Only new friends – and the people we chose.

And even though these people are incredible, they mostly have their people here. They sit around their full tables, filled with years of shared history and old traditions. In most cases – as it would be for us in South Africa – these occasions are almost sacred. You do not just invite outsiders into those traditions.

So, they do not feel the loneliness that we do this time of year.

Therefore, we look for other South Africans who are also feeling a little lonely – and we are always lucky to find them. We have a great time and enjoy food that taste like home. But it is still not the same as those big, busy, noisy table.

This year my whole family gathered on the farm in Limpopo. Even though my father is no longer there, even though uncles have passed away, even though the children have grown up and some are already far away for Christmas – most are still there. Around the Bushveld fire, drinks in hand because no one has to drive; everyone just sleeps there.  

And for the first time, I wished I was there, rather than here.

I wished my children could experience this for Christmas.

I wish they could just speak normally – like my four-year old says when she finally gets a chance to speak only Afrikaans.

I wish we could just be where everything is familiar to us.

What sometimes makes it extra difficult is that people interpret these moments of longing as “unhappiness” or “but that is the life you chose”. And so one learns to “suffer in silence”.

But tonight, I pull myself together again.

I chew on the carrot.

I dip the Santa biscuit.

I make a mess.

I put out the presents.

And I make it the best Christmas I possibly can for our three children and our small family.

And I pray – with everything in me – that they never have to leave each other behind in their search for a better life. I pray that they will always be close to each other, close to us, together at the same table at Christmas.

Maybe you also feel alone this year.

Maybe you long for the Bushveld, the beach, the summer rain – for things that slow down. For a Summer Christmas.

I pray that this feeling is short-lived.

May the new year bring new drive, new energy and renewed love for where you are – or better yet, may a trip to South Africa be on the horizon for you.

But know: You are not alone. Longing hits us all, from time to time.

Yours affectionately

Mignon

Also read: This life lewe