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Illustration by April Dela Noche Milne
The first time I saw snow was in the greeting cards sent by relatives who had immigrated to Canada and the United States. These holiday cards would typically feature Thomas Kinkade scenes of a snow-filled countryside with a cottage, smoke coming out of its chimney. There might be a sleigh in the picture or fir trees and a frozen lake in the background. Meanwhile, tucked inside those greeting cards would always be a $20 bill, which during that time in the early 1980s could afford a Filipino family a holiday feast.
The snow-covered scene and the $20 bill that came along with every Christmas card contributed to the idea of what success meant to the average Filipino then – and which persists to this day: success is when you have left your homeland, earn wages in dollars, and live somewhere where it snows in the winter.
Growing up, I saw snow in Hollywood movies, read about it in books, and heard about it in songs. They all reinforced the same association that the greeting cards did: snow equals cheer.
It does not snow in the Philippines. The monsoon season only brings torrential rain and floods. There are only two types of holidays: sunny or rainy. Regardless, every Filipino dreams of a white Christmas, especially the young ones who still hope to fulfill the dream of leaving the country and breaking free from the cycle of poverty that hounds many Filipino families for generations.
About five years ago, my wife and I, along with our then two-year-old daughter, immigrated to Canada and arrived in Ottawa in the dead of winter. I saw my first real snow when we walked out of the airport terminal and into a taxi headed for the hotel where we would stay for the first two weeks of our life in this new country.
Snow was falling gently onto the already thickly covered ground. Inside the dark interior of the cab, the window was a frame to the Hallmark card scenes that passed before our eyes. The phosphorescent glow from the street lamps and the slightly tinted windows of the car gave off a romantic hue to the snapshots of naked trees and bushes with their branches heavy with white, Christmas décor adorned unfenced yards, and gabled roofs and raised porches trimmed with lights. That taxi ride from the airport was magical even as I remember it years later.
My disillusionment with snow happened the very next morning.
In the movies, the morning after a heavy snowfall, children run around and throw snowballs at each other. Grown-ups greet each other with cheer while walking through ankle-deep snow. But immediately I realized that movie snow is fake. Walking through wet, cold snow is not fun to do at all. Your thighs feel a strain akin to wading through thick muck or a river with a strong undercurrent. And snow is only white and powdery when it is fresh. After a day, it turns into slush. Then, it would freeze so there are days where walking on an icy surface may be described as life-threatening.
I have learned that it is still beautiful to watch snow fall but it is better if you are comfortably ensconced in a heated room, gazing out a large picture window. Life is not a greeting card image frozen in time. You have to get out and go to work regardless of the weather. You put on layers of clothing and unwieldy boots. You have to trudge through the thick snow. You have to stand in the cold while waiting for the bus which will likely be late because of the blizzard.
After just a year, I have turned into one of probably millions of Canadians who dread the arrival of winter. The first snowfall, which usually occurs around mid-November or early December where I live, is accompanied by grumbling of the foreseeable inconveniences of shovelling driveways, heavier traffic and the time-consuming chore of putting on layers of clothing.
My life in Canada is really not that much better than the one I’ve left behind. I still struggle to make sure all the bills are paid. I continue to navigate the subtle nuances of a foreign culture. However, the conveniences of living in a prosperous country trumps facing these challenges. Canadians do not have to deal with commonplace occurrences in developing countries such as armed rebellions, widespread extreme poverty and people who dream of leaving their homeland because they have lost hope that their lives would improve even with hard work.
I no longer associate having immigrated with having fulfilled an old dream. And yet every winter, the sight of snow stirs nostalgia for a time when these same scenes used to evoke a giddy feeling that the perfect life would only be realized once I left hot and humid Manila and moved into the cold climes of North America.
But I know that for many Filipinos back home – especially those who see my photos on social media smiling in front of a snow-filled backdrop – I am living their dream.
Raymund P. Reyes lives in Ottawa.