Family Roots

There are significant differences between those that are forced to leave their countries out of fear for their lives, either economic or political, and those that choose to go.  Refugees live with the hope of returning to their countries of origin and a sense of displacement.  Once given the opportunity to return they sometimes find they have changed so much that they no longer fit into their old customs and the years have left them somewhat estranged from family and friends.

My family that made their way to other countries did so seeking adventure and opportunity. As a second-generation immigrant from both Switzerland and New Zealand it is impossible to make judgment on the choices of the family before me. It is certain that it is difficult to live so far away from important family relationships and I do believe that my family has suffered from the lack of support and direction that could have been provided had we lived closer.

As I write this I am visiting my Aunt in Switzerland and although I have been fortunate in that I have seen her over the years and in fact lived with her for almost a year as a young person I still feel a sense of grief that I could not of been with her more. I think of my own nieces and nephews in Canada who I quite simply adore and find it hard to imagine being so far away from them. 

Language is a constant barrier when visiting family in Switzerland. I was not brought up speaking French and only learned it when I was 18 years old. Over the years I have had very little opportunity to practice my French, which leaves my annual visits to Switzerland as my only refresher. I manage one-one but in groups I quickly lose the thread of the conversation and then in confusion retreat to my own thoughts. I have always wanted my children to be fluent in French but somehow in the rush of everyday life we never managed to set aside the time.

I often wonder how my life would have been different had my parents returned to either New Zealand or Switzerland.

When I visit I try to imagine myself living there;

I could live easily here amongst the soft grey stones.

The comfort of my family roots deep in the ground.

I am not sure what I would do but I like the narrow streets,

the acrid coffee and charming collections of cheese.

Each day a different café?

Long reflections in the garden...

What next after the trip to the bakery to buy bread?

The emptiness of the day both intrigues and terrifies.

I could not complete a day around the perfection of a pastry.

And the pulse of humanity is strong here, a constant drone,

I would miss the wildness of green and animals.

Mostly I wonder what my father would think if I left all that he built?

What is now gone and perhaps never was.

Strange to return to what he left behind,

finishing the conversations he could have had.

To finally be buried in his place.