Most of what I write never leaves my notebook or drafts folder. I write for myself, for clarity, for comfort, for reflection. But this time, something felt different. As I revisited these thoughts, I realized they were not just mine. They echo the quiet experiences of so many families like mine. So, I am sharing this, not as a polished piece, but as a moment I felt compelled to put into words.
I never really thought about life as a daughter of immigrants, at least not consciously. I was blessed with a loving family that worked as a unit and focused on each other. My parents did not have the kind of education that opens every door or makes life in a new country feel effortless, let alone in the country they came from.
Though they became fluent in English over time, my parents would still sit together, poring over forms and documents, carefully navigating the meaning of an unfamiliar language and systems. There was a subtle apprehension in those moments. A fear rooted not in wrongdoing but in experience. In the countries they came from, the slightest innocent mistake or misunderstanding could get you in trouble. Sometimes even for simply existing. Bureaucracy, government, and authority were not just systems; they were threats.
I now see the silent struggles they endured. They were learning how to parent in a country foreign to them, trying to set their children up for success through their own sacrifices while staying true to their values. They chose to deviate from the norms often seen in immigrant communities. They chose to be deeply involved as both parents and as partners, even when faced with whispers and taunts from others.
I remember the joy and peace on their faces when we visited their home country. They were proud to show us the beauty of their homeland, determined to keep us connected to our roots. And yet, beneath that joy was a quiet fear. A fear of what this life in a new country and world would do to the safe haven they created within their family. Always preparing for the next obstacle.
They began their life here nearly half a century ago, side by side, knowing the life they dreamed of might never be theirs. So they built something even greater. A foundation strong enough for their children to dream freely and make those dreams real. Now, they sit back and watch new beginnings unfold. Their children are adults, building lives, forming families, and thriving. I see how their hard work, sweat, and tears have blossomed into something beautiful. Canada is no longer just a place where they arrived. This is their home. And they built it, brick by brick, with love.
Nish Jots Her Thoughts 