After moving from my native Turkey I feel a kinship with the Great White North

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times … it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair …”

The first lines of Charles Dickens’ “A Tale of Two Cities” are not only my favourite written words of all time, but they are also the most poignant depiction of what humanity has suffered in the past two years.

The world is coming out of a more than two-year battle against the coronavirus, an enemy no one saw coming nor could grasp its sneak attacks nor knew how to stop. There are many wounds yet to heal.

Canadians still grapple with the rising cost of living and the undeniable crisis in the health-care system while gauging the political and social ramifications of last winter’s “Freedom Convoy” protests.

We welcomed tens of thousands of Afghans and Ukrainian refugees who fled war-ravaged countries. After breathing a sigh of relief, they are working to find their feet in Canada, their new home.

No doubt there is uncertainty and fear at every turn, not only in Canada, but around the globe. But as Dickens so brilliantly penned in 1859, where there is darkness and despair, there is also light and hope. And we emerge into the light and hope with Christmas and the new year just around the corner.

It seems there is no better time than this festive season to leave the pain behind and start anew. I believe a gleam of hope beckons us all, whatever our trauma, the devastating impacts of COVID or poverty or war.

For me, the challenge was to move to Canada from my native Turkey to chase my dreams of advancing as a journalist. This meant leaving a good job, incredible friends and a loving family. I had doubts about Canada. It was too far, it sounded too cold and I was too afraid. But this country accepted me as its own. Here I am, in the nation’s capital, to tell you about my kinship with the Great White North.

As cliche as it may sound, my observations of Ottawa were nothing short of a Hallmark moment. The main street bustled on a crisp Saturday afternoon. A little girl with a ponytail tugged at her mother’s coat and asked for a crying doll, and giggling girls posed for selfies at Sparks Street’s big snowball decoration.

It was all so familiar. I had no doubt my nephew and niece in Turkey would be pestering my sister the same way for presents. If I were there, I would be posing with my friends, sipping my peppermint latte.

The Christian minority in Turkey keep the spirit of “Noel” alive in Istanbul. But the rest of our 99 per cent Muslim nation — including me — claim Christmas festivities as secular New Year’s traditions. On Dec. 31, those who celebrate the modified Noel enjoy the full experience.

In my family, we invite family, friends and neighbours over for a big dinner. We decorate our plastic pine tree with gold and red balls and twinkling lights. My mom serves the classic New Year’s/Christmas menu: turkey stuffed with rice, dried fruit and nuts, with a Turkish mezze platter. Adults choose between the mulled or chilled wine or Turkish raki, and the minors settle for soda.

After dinner we sing, dance and play bingo. Everybody hugs and toasts with their wine flutes for the midnight countdown. Everyone snuggles up on the couch and watches Harry Potter while mugs of hot cocoa replace the flutes.

Replaying those memories in my head in preparation for this story, I remembered a surprising tie to Canada. The first ever Christmas tree I had — which was the same size as my six-year-old self — was a gift from my uncle who once lived near Toronto. On one of his visits back, he brought me that tree decorated with beautiful Canada-themed ornaments: moose, grizzly bears, snowflakes and fairy lights. I was a privileged child with both parents, an older sister and extended family around. I always had everything I needed and more.

My Christmas dream came true when I got that tree from Canada. The gift symbolized that I deserved nothing less than the children on the other side of the globe had. It meant I could have the same gifts, opportunities, experiences and that someone out there thought of me.

The Toronto Star’s Santa Claus Fund is giving gift boxes to 50,000 underprivileged children this Christmas season. You can be part of this wonderful cause by donating to the fund to ensure these children are warm, fed and entertained on Christmas Day. The boxes hold a toy, a book, winter clothing, treats, and a toothbrush and toothpaste.

The fund was established 116 years ago by Joseph Atkinson, founding publisher of the Star. Growing up poor, he didn’t have ice skates. A woman who found him at the park watching the other kids skating bought him a pair for Christmas. Inspired by his own experience, Atkinson embarked on a mission to ensure no child would go without a gift on Christmas.

With the help of Star readers’ generous donations that mission is still going strong.

Irem Koca is an Ottawa-based general assignment reporter for the Star. Reach her via email: ikoca@thestar.ca

GOAL: $1.5 million

TO DATE: $714,753

How to donate

With your gift, you can help provide holiday gift boxes that inspire hope and joy to 50,000 underprivileged children.

Online: To donate by Visa, Mastercard or Amex, scan this QR code or use our secure form at thestar.com/santaclausfund

By cheque: Mail to The Toronto Star Santa Claus Fund, One Yonge St., Toronto, ON M5E 1E6

By phone: Call 416-869-4847

The Star does not authorize anyone to solicit on its behalf. Tax receipts will be issued.

To volunteer: scfvolunteer@thestar.ca