When I initially began typing up this draft it was on a train from Scarborough to Manchester, and at the time the only thing colder, and soggier than the weather outside was my mindset. This would easily explain why I couldn’t find the right words to complete this draft without it sounding like the Scrooge was typing it up.

Simply put, and in the words of Ebenezer himself, it was, humbug.

I have since then shifted over to Dublin, possibly the only place I find myself not really ready to leave as yet, and more so than that, the lovely Irish city serves as my muse for this article.

I realized along the way with the helpful vibrations of the train I was on, and the short thirty-minute flight I had taken to get to Dublin why I disliked being in England so much. It was so foreign.

As the child of two immigrants who came to America early on in the century, I was always blessed enough to grow up in an environment where I situated in easily. Somehow I always ended up on the welcoming side of the spectrum, and the cold, isolation of England and its cultural rules just froze me up.

However, like many matters I ponder on and on about, I realized that being alienated for once definitely helped me find my gratitude for people that deserve it more than I give them.

Like I mentioned earlier on, my parents arrived in San Antonio, Texas at tender ages in their late twenties-early thirties respectively. At that time I, a two-year-old, was not aware of most things going on, and according to my mother, was homesick for the humid, Kerala soil. While I worried on and on about my little toy doll, and whether or not the teacher at school would force me to sing in music class, my parents were most likely facing far bigger problems.

It leads me to wonder how foreign they felt. At a time when diversity was more a statement than a state, how brave was it of two people to bring up a child in a completely foreign land with minimal resources and help? Sometimes I forget that the ease of my life is really because of the toil and troubles faced by my parents, but being in a situation vaguely reminiscent of how they could have felt really puts it into perspective.

Obviously, other factors influence my discomfort such as certain cultural factors, and really the stiffness of many aspects of British society, but I’m only here for vacation. I can’t even imagine having to move over here and start a life on my own with minimal help.

Perhaps I would eventually gain the courage I believe I lack, but I think it goes to show just how amazing some of our immigrant families are.

There is a great amount of hard work put into moving to a place where not only are you physically different, but adjusting to life means overcoming barrier after barrier whether that be language or climate, or even just to social life, and people like my parents who have not only done it successfully but have done it gracefully and wholeheartedly are people who deserve more than just praise, but admiration as well.

So this Christmas, in a land away from home, I’m thankful for this experience, and I’m a little extra thankful for the courage and example set by all the brave people immigrating and emigrating to make life a little better for themselves and their families.