I arrived in the United States in 1996 and settled in Palm Beach County, Florida, only a few months before the holidays. I was grateful to be here. I understood the opportunity. Still, nothing prepared me for how quiet that first holiday season would feel.

Back home in Haiti, the holidays were never confined to a single day. Christmas Eve unfolded late into the night with something we call Reveyon. People gathered very late. Food was prepared carefully and generously. Friends arrived. Family arrived. Often, more people than expected. Laughter carried from house to house. Music drifted through open windows. No one worried about work the next day. Life slowed down so people could be together.

That rhythm did not exist for me yet in America.

That year, the holidays arrived quietly. Streets emptied. Stores closed early. The world felt still. I barely saw my brother, Mercidieu, who worked double shifts. There was no long table waiting at home. No familiar voices filling the space. Just silence and distance.

For many immigrants, the first holiday season is not really a celebration. It is a reminder of friends left behind, of relatives far away, of traditions that live vividly in memory but are not yet part of daily life.........

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