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allo home

the sunset lasted forever over greenland
i couldn’t tell: was i looking at clouds? or at snow?
glaciers on the water, fluffy and jutted, and we skimmed along the ice.


Heavy jet lag twice in one week has left my head more scrambled than usual. Leaving Toronto felt more difficult this time. The more I move around, chasing jobs and degrees in other cities and countries, the more I wonder how I can make it all work in my hometown. Or at least in the same timezone. Wandering is delicious, but the seemingly endless cycle of adjustment and re-adjustment makes me long for strong, thick roots.

I see so much beauty in the despair that first drove me to leave. In the tired, creased faces, people shoving me out of the way on the bus. Street slang heavy with cursing and made-up grammar. Hesitation. Weariness of anything new or too much ambition. Toronto is a buzzkill, a hole, a puzzle with wide green spaces and crowded undergrounds, but all I know is to love it, warts and all. Love the way it sounds, love the way it feels, love the way it smells. Love the way it lets me be.

My allophone self. I told the Montréalaise next to me on the plane about how you could easily go about your entire life in Toronto without learning a word of English, so to call it an anglo city is a misnomer. She seemed horrified. I was confused.

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