I wish I could write to you and tell you about the exciting week I had last week, but unfortunately I came down with a crappy cold, which rendered me unable to do anything but sit on the sofa with a NeoCitron (Canadian lemsip!) and watch the Olympics (to be honest, it could have been worse, because as you should all know, I love the Winter Olympics). It mainly involved me blowing my nose and getting overly-emotional about the figure skating. What I can write to you and tell you about, however, is what happened yesterday- I finally moved in to Toronto.
Sitting in the car, driving with Robert's family and the van all loaded up, it felt a lot like moving into halls at university. I hadn't slept that well the night before, but it was strange - I wasn't actively freaking out, I wasn't telling everyone that, oh-my-god, I'm, like, so nervous to move into the city, because I didn't think I was. I thought I was chill about it. I thought I was excited and ready. My body had another view of things, apparently. It made that very clear on the morning before move-in-day, when I woke up with super-nausea and an inability to focus on anything. Why the hell are you playing up?, I asked my corporeal manifestation, this is supposed to be exciting! Despite my own determination to move to the city without breaking a sweat, I did realise that this was a bit of a big deal: it was the real beginning of my Canadian adventure.
You see, I thought moving to Canada was going to be a lot like jumping off a cliff, that big cliff being the plane journey over here. What I have come to realise is that getting the flight was perhaps the easiest thing that I'd have to do. I got picked up at the airport, I went to my friend's home where he and his family looked after me, cooked for me and did my laundry. As time passed and I started to get to grips with my situation, I began to realise that this whole thing is a lot more like jumping off of a succession of several cliffs, rather than just one big one.
After I said goodbye to my Canadian family and took a look around the flat, I went out for a walk to go get groceries. My head during the whole time I paced down the icy pavements was going, WOAH WOAH WOAH WOAH WHAT ARE WE DOING WOAAAHHHHH. Everything was bright, loud, busy, and there were all these people, walking around, doing their thing. It seemed that every conversation that I passed by was taking place in a different language. I was overwhelmed.
It's not only the fact that it's been so long since I've lived by myself in a city, it's that I've never lived in a city as large as Toronto. This is the largest city in Canada, which is the second-largest country in the world. As I sat, typing away in the living room last night, I could hear the rumble of cars outside my living room window, the 'ding-ding!'s of streetcars and… just everything else: the music that blared from people's car windows, the horns beeping, the occasional yelling guy (there was also this wee dancing guy at the junction by the grocery store, who seemed to have nothing better to do than face oncoming traffic and give it LALDI with his headphones on - amazing). The noise, the sheer energy of being in the city, had me feeling like I had just been pushed over the top of Niagara Falls, without even a barrel to ride in.
So, after getting groceries, I shifted all my stuff up into my new room. It was small, with green walls and a skylight that let the last of the day's rays in. Under the changing light, I unpacked, taking time between placing clothes on hangers to talk to some of my friends back home. Eventually, I was finished, and the heat of my room made me sleepy. I was pooped. Sitting on my new bed, I could hear the wail of a police car siren through the skylight. It was five minutes to midnight. Eventually I brushed my teeth and slipped off my jeans, getting ready for bed.
I had a terrible sleep, as in, no sleep at all, really. The sleep that I did manage to have was riddled with strange dreams: shopping cart bobsleigh Olympics, trying to escape from some terrible man in a black suit, my Dad performing open heart surgery on my dog. It was hot, and I was hungry, so hungry. My attempt at cooking for myself that evening was the first time I had really made up a meal for myself in several months, and, despite being delicious, I had been naive in thinking that it was enough. Plus, I was going to have to get used to not having large family meals anymore, like I had been served in Robert's house.
It was about half past two in the morning, and I heard my flatmates with their friends downstairs, talking and drinking. As my tummy rumbled and I heard the creaking of floorboards, I wondered if I was cut out for the city slicker lifestyle. Am I too conservative to be a party girl, to really enjoy my twenties? I asked myself. Am I supposed to be up and out there, having dangerous amounts of fun? Am I just really, really lame? I turned around and tried to get comfortable again - my phone told me it was now half past four in the morning. Oh God. I'm too hungry. I snuck downstairs for a banana.
Last night I worried if this was the place for me, if this was the right flat and this was the right city and this whole… thing was the right thing to do. I missed Barrie, I missed Storm, the beautiful, black doggie - my best friend over these past four weeks. I missed being able to eat biscuits in front of the TV and having ridiculous amounts of food thrust upon me at mealtimes. But then I remembered that when I first arrived in Canada, Robert's house didn't feel like home at all. I had been the same wee, cowrin', timorous beastie that I was now. When I first arrived, I felt like I needed the safety of Scotland, the knowledge that I was close to my own bed and my own family and my own friends. But over the past month, without even realising it, I created a safe space for myself in Barrie. I know now that it's going to take a while, but soon, I'd be at that same biscuit-eating level of relaxation in my new house (taking a look at my waistline, though, I'm gonna say minus the biscuits, perhaps).
It's silly how I spent most of the past month longing to be in the city, practically tearing my hair out over it... and now that I'm here, I'm throwing my hands up in the air and saying, wait! I'm not so sure about all this anymore! Can I just go back to Barrie, where I'm safe?
Look lady, I say to myself, you're the one that got yourself into this whole deal. You're the one that decided to jump off the cliff, and all the other precipices that will come after. It's a weird analogy that you've given yourself here, but I get it. It's bright and sunny outside, today. The air is crisp, and Toronto is at your doorstep. Jump.
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