From Scotland to England for Christmas, from house to house, country to country, I am used to moving on from places. I thought I had gotten used to this.
Yet when my parents told me this summer, before packing up for my second year, that they were done with Scotland and England was in their sights – I had a sudden, overwhelming anger fill my veins.
Where I have lived in Scotland has been the house I have lived in the longest in my life and I had to swallow the bitter pill my parents shoved towards me when telling me that this was the end.
I remember when I was told that I was moving to Scotland at 11 years old that I was excited for a new adventure, the excitement of going to a country where I could be someone new.
That excitement died the minute Christmas came around – six months after we moved here – and realising we were alone.
Christmas is subpar when it doesn’t involve the whole family. I wanted the dishes my gran cooked, eating ice cream at my grandparents’ house while watching The Polar Express, and going to church to show off my Christmas presents with all the other kids.
Being here is not the same and my parents moving to England is going to change the Christmas traditions even more. Over the years I have gotten used to the makeshift traditions we made as a family in Scotland.
I know realistically that we would still be following some of these traditions we have made – going to Christmas Markets, eating gammon for Christmas instead of the selection of meats my gran cooked, stockings opened first, watching Christmas movies together, etc.
Especially since a lot of these traditions have been something we had in South Africa anyways, minus the gammon and Christmas Markets, but I hate that the living room would be different and that the streets outside would be unfamiliar.
Every time we move, something must be given up for it to work, and I don’t know what will be given up for this Christmas in England.
While writing this I decided to text my mum about this – wanting to hear what she thought about having to move again and, not to toot my own horn, to be in a different country to me.
My mum said: “Home is where the heart is, as long as I have you, Morgan [my sister] and dad with me, Christmas will always be special, no matter what we do.”
It was like a pile of rocks have been lifted from my back, having my mum reassure me that Christmas would always be special helped me in the relieving the anxiousness this move has given me.
Hopefully, when Christmas comes around, where I will be sitting in an unfamiliar living room with the same tree we have had since I was young enough to remember (yes, you read that right, we shipped the tree over from South Africa), that my mum will be right.
Featured Image Credit: Cheryl de Beer
Comment Editor
2nd year - History and Journalism student
