I miss my February

Another immigrant story, mine.

This photo does not belong to me. All rights to the owner.

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No one forced me to move to Canada. It’s true. I’m here of my own volition. I have thought it through, I swear!

Two of my close friends came first, then came my twin sister, then my sister-in-law and only a couple of years after that, my husband and I decided to come too.

We watched, we learned, we planned, we went on to live at my parents’ house for a whole year to save money, we sold everything we owned, we hired the best immigration agency we could afford, we did everything right and legally, and after a long journey, we finally became Canadian citizens last year.

Immigrating to a new country is not easy, I’ll tell you that. A lot is said right now about immigrants, and I would invite you to talk to your grandparents, neighbours or friends about their own experiences. I’m sure you know plenty of people who can tell you firsthand why and how they came to their decision to uproot all that they’ve ever known.

One thing I can assure you is that it is a hard decision to make, leaving it all behind… Your family, your friends, the life you know, your culture, your food, your routine, your professional network, your career. Starting over from scratch is very. hard.

But we really thought it through, we kinda knew what to expect, and we believed we were prepared for the completely new life we would create. Hey, that’s exciting. We could be who we truly are in this new world, no one knew our parents, our last names, our history, and the expectations we were carrying our whole lives meant nothing.

But in all that preparation, I never, ever thought I would miss my Februaries. Who even thinks about the month of February anyway? I sure didn’t. But as it turns out, after 6 years in Canada, February has been my biggest loss. And one I still cannot cope with.

You see, the month of February, where I come from, is magical, my people in Brazil often say that February begins on New Year’s Eve and the year only starts after February. It’s a common saying. I never understood its whimsical, magical power until I lost it.

Oh, to not value when you have it, only to miss after you lose it. How cliché and how painful. I’ve been trying to put into words how special February is for Brazilians, but it’s one of those things you have to feel and experience to truly know.

I’m sure you, as an English speaker, have heard about Carnaval and especially Brazilian Carnaval, maybe you know only about the generalizations about it, people in bikinis dancing on the streets and partying for 5 days straight, the often disgusting and disrespectful stereotype.

What you don’t know is that Carnaval is both my Grandma’s favourite time of the year. My Grandma on my mom’s side always joined from the sidelines (as my grandpa wouldn’t allow her to dress up), the poor girl. But my grandma on my dad’s side would look forward the whole year to dress up, and would spend countless hours thinking about her costumes and crafting them for her and her kids, eventually even her grandkids, how fun it was to watch the preparations and even more fun to join her in dancing and singing at the carnaval parties for all ages we had in our local Clube (a mixture between a social club, a country club and a recreational complex, a place uniquely middle class Brazilian).

I miss them both deeply. One I can still reach on the phone, she’ll be watching all the desfile das escola de Samba (calling a parade doesn’t do it justice, just google it) on tv and ranking them, as will I, it’s all I have left from Carnaval, and in a bittersweet turn of events, a bonding time with her since it’s all she was ever allowed to. My other grandma is waiting for me on the next plane to one day play carnaval together again.

Imagine the excitement for Halloween, to dress up for one day… Well, during Carnaval you dress up for 5 days, intricate costumes, a lot of times hilarious costumes (we Brazilians have the best sense of humour), group costumes are a must at least one of the days, and that jittery feeling of pure bliss lingers on, not for one day like Halloween, but for the whole month. Bonus points for Carnaval since we don’t have that creepy side of Halloween tainting our fun. It’s sorta unsettling to feel scared when playing dress up once you know what it feels like to feel only joy.

Yeah, Carnaval is better. Carnaval is straight-up happiness, it’s laughter, it’s friendship, it’s family time, it’s music, it’s art, it’s when you really understand that life is worth living. A whole country that stops, it really does go into a complete halt, so people, all classes, ages, genders, religions, backgrounds, every single person, can be together, having fun, dressing up, singing and dancing.

Carnaval has a deep, rich history from frevo, to carnaval de rua, to clubes, to bloquinhos, to trio elétricos, to family trips, to the actual main event broadcasted live on tv where samba schools get graded to win the title of the “best samba school of Brazil”. It’s poetry. It’s live poetry. Alive poetry. Real-life poetry. That’s just one of the beautiful things about Brazil that silly old me never thought about, how losing it would feel like, there are others.

It doesn’t help that February happens to be the coldest month of the year in Canada. I swear I’ll live in Canada for 40 years and never get used to the winter, but February itself is dreadful. When people ask me what the final straw was that made me delete all social media, I can very safely say that it was the thought of another February of me deep in snow, watching everyone I love enjoying Carnaval.

I know, how shallow, now I advocate being social media free from my higher ground, but the truth is I’m not better than anyone, I was simply tired of feeling February FOMO. Did deleting all my socials help with my mental health? Absolutely. Did it help with my February FOMO? No. It didn’t. No, it did not.

By this point, I know exactly what you’re thinking, “Just buy a ticket and go back to Brazil every February!”, and to that I’ll respond, “How privileged YOU ARE!” No, I won’t respond to that; that’s too bitter. Sorry! But really, have you seen the prices for flights to Brazil in February? We’re a family of four, no less! For the price of just one ticket to Brazil in February, our whole family could travel anywhere else in the world.

And that’s the final cruelty of my Canadian Februaries. The twisted irony of faith. The universe really said to me, “Ooooooh, you want safety, progressive world views, more socialism and the freedom to be who you are without the crushing expectations of the society that raised you? Fine, you can have it! The price is only… Your February,” and that’s the price I’m paying.

Sure, one day I want to be able to afford going back to Brazil, I would love nothing more than to “play Carnaval” like my grandma would say, with my own kids and give them the carnaval fun I had growing up. But the truth is right now, and for the last 6 years, all I have every February are my memories, my FOMO and freezing temperatures with a gray sky.

It’s always tricky for me to write about the life of an immigrant, the real one; it’s like touching an open wound, it really does feel like having an open wound if I stop to think about it. And so I (and I’m sure most immigrants) just push all of the hard feelings deep down and carry on, carry on trusting that we made the right choice. But there’s always a voice whispering, “Have you? Really?” So we push that down too, ignore it.

We soldier on, we give everything we have to the new country we chose, and we bleed for it and fight for it, way more than we ever did for our own home country. After all, we all take our own country of birth for granted, it’s all we’ve ever known, but when you choose a new one, when you choose to leave yours behind, and you start over, you have to prove to yourself, your family, your friends (and it feels like prove to the world) you made the right decision. And so you do everything in your power to prove just that, to make a better life for yourself and your family. After all, that’s why you left.

I am very happy in Canada, very settled, I embrace its culture and traditions, and I love this country, I do. I can honestly say I truly do feel Canadian as much as I feel Brazilian, especially because both my kids were born here and are being raised here, and that’s the community we have, and we’re so grateful.

Does it hurt sometimes that the kids don’t speak my Portuguese? Yeah. Does it hurt that they’ll probably never know what my life looked like (really was like) when I was growing up? Yes, it hurts a lot. The taste of the foods and fruits I grew up eating, the places, the nature, the smells, the trips we would take, the Carnaval, the kids are oblivious to all that, so it feels like there’s a chunk of my personhood they don’t have access to, that’s sad.

And so you, grandchild of immigrants, probably also don’t know a lot about who your ancestors really were before settling here; you probably never will. So before you judge an immigrant who perhaps arrived here a little after your own ancestors, just know that at the very least, their decision to be in “your” country was not an easy one to make.

Some people immigrate due to war, famine, violence in their own countries, some immigrate because they feel suffocated where they were (my case), some immigrate because their family needs help and sending money back home is a priority, and there are many more reasons people choose to immigrate, but I can tell you is, none of the reasons make the decision easy.

An immigrant in “your” country is working twice as hard as you to be respected three times less than you. I have a freaking law degree, for God’s sake, and I’ve been told I’m not qualified for admin positions I’ve applied to. It made me giggle. Right now, I’m writing in a language that’s not my own, volunteering in my community, supporting the local economy and generally enriching society, so no, immigrants are not the problem some people think they are.

The honest truth is that we are all immigrants on a stolen land. And I’ll leave you now with this: be kind. You really don’t know what people are going through. What they had to leave and why. Lead with empathy, talk to each other, find common ground, build relationships, and nurture a community of vastly different cultures woven together. The world will be better for it.

As for me, I’ll survive another February, after all, todo carnaval tem seu fim.