Holidays Away From Home: Everything is Going to Be Different Now

By Abbigale Kernya for The 44 North

Managing Editor

String lights and small holiday plants on a white windowsill

“I love everything about my home here on Vancouver Island, but no matter how many peppermint candles I light or ornaments I collect for my future family, I am still waiting for the unfamiliar sense of grief to make room for my holiday in my new life. It can be hard to start your own traditions away from your family, knowing that while you are crafting holiday magic of your own, there is also a missing piece where you used to stand. That is the sort of grief I’m feeling this holiday: the guilt of growing up and the understanding that everything is going to be different now.” ​​​​

This is my first Christmas away from home. 

Not away as in university or somewhere thirty minutes away, trying to make a landlord's special house a home. I mean away as in 4,000 kilometres away. I love everything about British Columbia and my little life on the island. I love the misty mornings as the night’s rain rolls off the mountains and the lizards under my feet and the weather that never really gets that cold. Not like the cold back home. Not like anything I’m used to back home, really. 

It’s a strange feeling to call this place home when it’s so unfamiliar to everything I’ve ever come to recognize these past twenty-two years. It’s even stranger to put up my Charlie-Brown-tree in my one-bedroom apartment, knowing that somewhere along those kilometres between me and home, family traditions aren’t interrupted by someone’s absence. For me, being that someone comes with a different sort of winter blues. 

I love everything about my home here on Vancouver Island, but no matter how many peppermint candles I light or ornaments I collect for my future family, I am still waiting for the unfamiliar sense of grief to make room for my holiday in my new life. It can be hard to start your own traditions away from your family, knowing that while you are crafting holiday magic of your own, there is also a missing piece where you used to stand. That is the sort of grief I’m feeling this holiday: the guilt of growing up and the understanding that everything is going to be different now.

The most important part of going through the motions that come with spending holidays away from family is that it is okay for things to be different—it would be strange if they weren’t! In this stage of adulthood, I find myself standing in the doorway of understanding that part of life is to start your own, while holding gratitude close to your chest for the memories and celebrations that got you to where you are now. 

Alternatively, I imagine my parents at twenty-two (also living on this island away from home), beginning their lives separate from their families. I imagine my mother excited and scared and maybe a little sad to be so far away during our favourite time of the year, but grinning like a Cheshire Cat at all of the unpaved paths lying ahead (to us!).

Coming up on six months of living here, I get asked a lot what it feels like to be living across the country from everyone and everything I called home. The usual “how are you doing?” or “Does it get lonely?” or even, “You can always come home.”

While those questions can be tackled with equal parts excitement and fear at any given point in the year, I think the holidays set the table with a different set of emotions—one that definitely isn’t helped by the 4 PM sunset and bitter, wet weather clouding the otherwise natural serotonin our bodies need to think clearly. In this sense, yes, I am feeling lonely. 

And that is okay.

It’s normal to feel lonely, it’s normal to feel guilty, and it’s normal to miss your family and friends a little extra this holiday season. While holding the grief—and perhaps even a little guilt—in your hands, it’s important to recognize there is nothing selfish about whatever adventure you are on that takes you away from wherever it is you call home. At the end of the day, the holidays aren’t specific to one place. The things that bring us joy in this season (connection, giving, family, etc.) can be found anywhere. Just because you may not be there physically, doesn’t mean you are any less deserving of celebration or holiday joy.

We create the magic in this season—not big box stores and not fancy wrapping paper or Black Friday shopping, but humans coming together to make this holiday as special as it is.

So yes, I know it’s hard to not be there (physically at least!). 

That said, remember that you exist in a time where it is lightning-fast and easy to hop on the phone, hop on FaceTime, or send a postcard in the mail that arrives the next day. If coming together is what you miss, either the familiar baking traditions or holiday eve movie marathon, nothing is stopping you from filling your new home with the warm aroma of nostalgia to celebrate together, even if not together in the way you wish.

And remember, everything is always a plane, train, bus, or car ride away.

Book Review: Everything is Tuberculosis - The History and Persistence of Our Deadliest Infection by John Green (2025)

by Abbigale Kernya, ​for The 44 North

Managing Editor

The book cover of Everything Is Tuberculosis by John Green

Genre: Non-Fiction

“It reminded me that when we know about suffering, when we are proximal to it, we are capable of extraordinary generosity. We can do and be so much for each other. But only when we see one another in our full humanity. Not as statistics or problems, but as people who deserve to be alive in the world.”

― John Green, Everything Is Tuberculosis

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“Nothing is so privileged as thinking history belongs to the past.”

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Lately, I’ve been thinking about COVID. 

But I still skip every episode from whatever TV show in 2020 where a pandemic invades the static screen. I don’t want to talk about it, and yes, I also can’t believe it happened. 

Sometimes I’m catapulted five years ago in the smallest of places: Standing on the crusted six-feet-apart footprints scuffed on the grocery store floor, or a blue mask snagged on a trash bin, or even the sharp moment of panic when a stranger sneezes on the bus.

Despite all my shoving and pushing it down into a crevice of my memory, the pandemic still happened, and we are still living through it. I still think about it, even when I don’t want to.

John Green is the first person to untangle my stress ball of past anxiety and future confusion about illness into one tidy book. It fundamentally changed my life. Everything is Tuberculosis follows the illness (or, “consumption,” as it was so often glorified as a beautiful wasting disease of the rich and privileged) through the threads of class and capitalism in the past centuries. Green weaves us through the romanticization of the “white man’s disease” to now, where the raging class disparities around the globe ignite the fire for consumption to not only rage on, but fuel humanitarian crises like gasoline on a brush fire.

What took this book (by no means a solely historical textbook) from a simple Crash Course about disease to a commentary on beauty and capitalism was Green’s account of travelling to Sierra Leone to see first-hand how a disease—that was once considered desirable for its beauty and attraction to upper-class intelligence—is now the beacon for a humanitarian crisis. 

In a calling card to end the disparity between the tuberculosis (TB) crisis and access to medication and vaccines, Green details the story of a little boy, Henry, treated in a Sierra Leone hospital. A hospital it may have been, but one much different from the one you and I and John are familiar with. One that is denied access to life-saving medicine. One that is impoverished by colonialism, past and present, and one where children die of an easily curable disease for the sole reason that they were born in a country that the rest of the world turned a blind eye to.

Green details his relationship with Henry throughout the book, from innocent childlike wonder to recounting stories of Henry’s family, where disease and poverty have taken more than just his childhood. Despite the catastrophic humanitarian crisis invading Henry’s lungs, he is hopeful. He is brave, and he fundamentally changes Green’s life. 

The othering of the ill is not something special to our tiny pocket in time, but rather a telltale sign of how disease is treated based on class, race, and access to medicine. From belladonna’s use in the 1800s as a cosmetic to mimic the pale, feverish look of consumption, to the vilification of TB when poor marginalized communities fell victim, to the current rise of unnatural thinness that plagues the beauty standard of our post-COVID society. Everything is connected, and everything is curable.

To paraphrase perhaps my favourite line in the entire book: Where there is a humanitarian crisis, you will find TB. Where there is poverty and colonialism and people stuck under the boot of centuries of oppression, you will find TB. This disease does not compromise on its victims; it does not judge or offer plea deals. Instead, we as humans are the sole perpetrators of the thousands and thousands of deaths every year from this entirely curable disease. It is when humans fail to act, or don’t care, or put profit over human lives, that TB will show up.

It is hard for me to briefly explain how much of an impact this book had on not only my relationship to illness, but also how I view the world. Green makes an excellent argument throughout the entire book that there is no reason that humans should die of a disease like TB. There is no logical reason that in a world where humans have gone to space and built electric cars that even one human life dies from an entirely preventable illness. In that case, tuberculosis is not a disease of medicine, but rather a disease of human empathy and the cavern standing between suffering and power.

Everything is Tuberculosis is as gentle with human spirit as it is fundamentally important to understanding the politics of human suffering. From tender-hearted stories of compassion and generosity, to a century-long study into illness as a catalyst for global misunderstanding of what it means to be alive. 

On Charlie Kirk: You Can't Pick and Choose Your Martyr

By Abbigale Kernya for The 44 North

Managing Editor

Charlie Kirk speaking into a microphone

"What began as a goal to further the reach of conservative ideology on college campuses evolved into a right-wing pipeline that grounded itself in exploiting marginalized communities and inciting violence against anyone who dared to call out the deplorable white supremacist behaviour."

On September 10th, 2025, American Conservative podcaster Charlie Kirk was fatally shot at Utah Valley University on the first stop of his “Prove Me Wrong” campus tour. Kirk, who made his career founding Turning Point USA and debating college students on campus about controversial topics like abortion, same-sex marriage, transgender existence, and the right to bear arms, has left behind a legacy that continues to polarize and divide. 

Kirk’s final words that afternoon perhaps speak most of all to his work, where he riled up the MAGA crowd in attendance—fearmongering about transgender gang violence—moments before he was fatally shot by a rifle 200 yards away. The suspect charged is 22-year-old Tyler Robinson, whose motives remain unknown at the time of writing, despite republican claims his actions were a blatant attack from the left. 

It is without question that no matter Kirk’s controversial and bigoted stance, nobody ‘deserves’ to die by gun violence. This remains true, even after Kirk plainly stated in 2023 that he supported civilian casualties to protect and uphold the Second Amendment right to bear arms. The outcry following his assassination is as polarizing as it is frightening. Far right MAGA leaders are calling on violence towards the left (or, their “political opponents”) and conspiracy theories are headlining mainstream media, stating that this shooting was somehow a result of transgender violence—the same “violence” Kirk conspiratized seconds before the fatal shot. 

And yet, on the same day Kirk was shot and killed on campus, an elementary school in Illinois was attacked by a lone gunman, marking the 146th American school shooting in 2025, as Kirk became the same “civilian casualty” he supported.

Kirk’s platform was built on oppression and harm to anyone who wasn’t a straight, white, Christian, middle-class American cis-male. It can be hard to feel empathy for someone who would not give you the same courtesy. Empathy, which, in Kirk’s own words, was seen as a made-up emotion.

Right-wing extremism has been rising steadily in America, bleeding the harmful rhetoric mainstreamed by people like Kirk into nearly every crevice of the West. When the news broke that Kirk had succumbed to his fatal shot, the response heard everywhere from the internet to sports venues was shocking, to say the least. 

This is not to say that Kirk deserved what he got—nobody, no matter which side of the political line they stand on, deserves to be murdered in broad daylight. Nobody deserves to witness bloodshed, and in breaking down the hypocrisies of republican outcry, it is not a pro-firearm message. Rather, it’s one that aims to draw light toward the mass mourning of a white supremacist podcaster who made a career demonizing marginalized communities under the guise of “free speech” and the right to have your own opinion.

The irony of this whole situation is hidden under the calls for violence and continued “us vs. them” rhetoric, steeped in racist comparisons between Kirk and the murder of George Floyd, to further blame the left for his assassination. However, the argument that one must feel sorry for Kirk is somewhat missing the mark in this conversation. Especially given that Kirk himself advocated for public executions, saying they should be televised to children and sponsored by major corporations like Coca-Cola. It comes as somewhat ironic, then, that the conversation around his death is spiralling into that of a memorialized martyr who died for his own opinion, not one that aims to look at the broader picture of the violence he made a career out of. 

Kirk’s advocacy for the right to one’s own “opinion” is a trapdoor that invites unsuspecting viewers through the guise of free speech into the chasm of extremist ideology. As a reminder, an opinion is whether or not you like summer over winter, or what TV show deserved an Emmy Award, or how you like your eggs cooked. An opinion is not whether or not you believe the Jim Crow laws were a good thing for the Black community, or that women aren’t capable of holding equal careers to men, or that transgender people are dangerous, bloodthirsty criminals. Charlie Kirk did not die for his opinion. He held no ‘opinions’ that were not factually incorrect or spewed in the pursuit of a divided country, fueled by hatred and fear. 

His “Prove me Wrong” tour would be the final act in his legacy of rage-baiting college students into falling for the ultra-right-wing pipeline, spinning every disadvantage young people face into a calling card for bigotry and white-supremacy. It is extremely telling how school shootings and the rise of hate speech in North America have become so normalized that they’ve become desensitized to mainstream media. On the afternoon of Charlie Kirk’s shooting, when a man armed with a semi-automatic weapon opened fire in an elementary school in Illinois, the narrative instead became focused on protecting the legacy of someone who didn’t believe in equal rights based on “freedom of expression” rather than the epidemic of gun violence that is plaguing America.

The truth is, if people were truly outraged that this horrific act of gun violence cost Kirk his life, a conversation of change would spark. Instead, conversations around further demonizing left-leaning voters and the trans community have infiltrated online forums. Additionally, we’ve seen countless examples where anyone speaking out against the hypocrisy of Kirk’s shooting is facing harassment and, in increasingly frequent cases, being fired from their employment after speaking against Charlie Kirk's “opinions.”

How have we strayed so far from the plot that merely bringing attention to the hypocrisy and somewhat ironic nature of September 12th is an act of war against the right-wing? To say that you don’t support what happened to Charlie Kirk, but Charlie Kirk (by his own words) supported what happened to him, has become controversial—as if his platform was built around not only protecting the Second Amendment, but also advocating for looser gun restrictions. 

How can one mourn Charlie Kirk and ignore the victims of his rhetoric?

What began as a goal to further the reach of conservative ideology on college campuses evolved into a right-wing pipeline that grounded itself in exploiting marginalized communities and inciting violence against anyone who dared to call out the deplorable white supremacist behaviour. 

To truly mourn Charlie Kirk must mean you mourn all victims of gun violence. 

To mourn him as a father, as a husband, is to also mourn the innocent families ripped apart by ICE raids.

To mourn him as a political activist for free speech is to also mourn the journalists murdered in Gaza who died documenting a genocide. 

To mourn Charlie Kirk is to mourn victims of violence perpetuated with hands cradling guns and microphones. 

To mourn him is to mourn trans people and childbearing folks who have died due to lack of access to gender affirming care and abortion resources.

You cannot pick and choose your martyr.