"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 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."
I arrived in the United States in 1996 and settled in Palm Beach County, Florida a few months before the holidays. I felt grateful for the opportunity but unprepared for how quiet that first holiday season would be. In Haiti, holidays unfold over days with late-night Reveyon gatherings, generous food, music through open windows, and work adjusted around celebration. In the U.S., streets emptied, stores closed early, and familiar voices were absent; my brother worked double shifts and silence dominated. For many immigrants, the first holiday is a reminder of relatives left behind. Belonging must be rebuilt; holding tradition while embracing new culture eases integration. Celebration, memory, and identity can stretch across borders without breaking.
Read at Psychology Today
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