December has the annoying habit of reminding you that you’re far from home precisely when you wish you weren’t. And yes, I say that from experience. I’ve spent many Christmases far from my country and my family, and each one has taught me something, even if some lessons came with nights of fried-egg rice or empty nightclubs.
CHRISTMAS AT THE CLUB
My first Christmas abroad felt like a stroke of luck. I ended up in Florida, in the United States, where there are so many Latinos that you sometimes feel like you’ve landed in a dimly lit tropical embassy. I arrived with the naïve hope of a humble but warm Christmas Eve dinner, the kind where someone cuts the turkey with nostalgic ceremony.
Instead, they served me rice with a fried egg.
And right after, they told me to get ready because we were going clubbing that night.
I thought they were joking. They weren’t. They had planned to spend Christmas Eve at a nightclub where, judging by what I saw and lived, God hadn’t set foot since 1987. What happened there will never appear on my blog, because even I know there are things you simply don’t write about. It was also where I met Francisco, an unexpected guru who taught me several life lessons I still use today, even if he probably doesn’t remember me at all.
LONELY AND MELANCHOLIC
My second Christmas found me in Germany. And of course, full of misplaced confidence, I tried to recreate the American formula but with a more elaborate menu, because like many people, I often confuse food with affection. I prepared roasted chicken, fries, and a bottle of wine to toast with myself. It sounds bleak, but in my mind I looked stoic and brave.
Reality was crueler. The chicken tasted like a kick to the groin, and drinking a holiday toast alone is something the European Union should regulate.
Still holding on to optimism, I went to a Christmas party organized by the university. Ten people scattered around, no one dancing, no one talking, or maybe they were telepaths or just running on low emotional bandwidth. No one seemed to have received the Christmas spirit update in their system. Magdeburg in December is not exactly Las Vegas or Miami. I went home before midnight, put on some cartoons, and prayed to fall asleep quickly, like a scolded child but at least with a full stomach.
TRIAL AND ERROR
After that gray Christmas, I promised myself not to repeat the comedy of errors.
I invited a small group of emotional castaways like me, foreigners with no family nearby and a lot of hunger. I bought a five-euro chicken, covered it with an improvised sauce made from whatever I had in the kitchen, and without meaning to, triggered a bit of Christmas magic.
Alfonso, one of the guests, arrived late because he had a Christmas date with a girl. He told us the whole story while devouring a chicken leg as if it were the last source of protein on Earth. The evening turned into a group therapy session without a therapist, with non-Christmas music, UNO matches, confessions, heartbreak stories, and dreams that felt too big for a shared apartment. And yes, we ended up at three in the morning happy, laughing, tipsy, and full of cheap chicken. Beautiful and unforgettable.
A GERMAN CHRISTMAS
Years later, I was adopted by a couple of friends, one of them the most postcard-perfect German you can imagine, and hilariously fun. I experienced my first traditional German Christmas: church service, a walk through the woods, a simple but cozy dinner, and conversations that lull you better than any carol.
I went to bed early that night, with a peace I hadn’t felt in a long time. It was the first time in years I truly felt part of a family again.
On the 25th, they introduced me to the whole family —an army of uncles, aunts, cousins, and siblings competing to say Frohe Weihnachten with the most enthusiasm. We walked around the city, drank hot wine, and I had that strange feeling of belonging without fully belonging. It was a lovely Christmas.
MY FUTURE CHRISTMASES
Now I have my own Christmas rituals. Roasting chicken, turkey, or whatever the month’s budget allows. Watching amateur theatre plays in German churches that remind me of my school performances but with better lighting. Taking a walk while listening to something uplifting before dinner.
I usually spend Christmas with friends who have become family. And if I ever end up alone again, I’d head to Berlin without hesitation. A city where there’s always a bar open, a hidden party, or a DJ who thinks mixing Last Christmas with techno is a stroke of genius. And if money runs short, then a Home Alone marathon will do the job.
In life you learn to be okay even when there’s no one to toast with.
CONCLUSION
If you made it this far, congratulations. Either you relate to this or you have a very healthy level of curiosity. Either way, my wish is simple. Prepare something nice this Christmas, even if it’s just for yourself. May joy find its way to you, even if you have to craft it by hand.
And may you give yourself, at least for one day, the illusion that everything will be alright.
Trust me. Sometimes, that’s more than enough.
