Home

I stepped off the plane with a feeling of resentment. Throughout the flight I thought of thousands of different ways to escape, to find my way back home. Many ideas floated through my head like diving out of the fire escape and parachuting my way to freedom, or pretending to throw up so they would have to take me off the plane. But, considering all of the butterflies that were, and still are, in my stomach, I doubted that I would have had to pretend.The i thought I could have locked the pilot in the bathroom and turned the whole plane around, which actually doesn't seem that bad…no that's crazy… yeah, that was crazy. It was stupid to think of an escape plan when it was my own fault that I was coming here. Because I wanted to.

I pick up my luggage at the baggage carousel. I find it easily, as it is the only bright floral print bag with a neon yellow tag. My parents bought it for me so I could never lose sight of it and find it easily as it moved along the conveyor belt. I drag my bag behind me and walk through the airport always as slowly as possible, taking small turtle steps and stopping at literally every airport magazine shop to flip through the magazines. Anything to delay my arrival into this city. 

Toronto, the place where I was born and the place I am trying so hard not to enter right now. It is not, however, the place where I grew up. I grew up in London, England. My parents moved there right after I was born because my dad got a job offer there. He’s a pretty successful businessman. In all these years, I never left London. I’ve lived in the same house since I was a baby and I’ve been attending the same school since kindergarten. 

I stop by the food court and stand in line to pick up some McDonalds. I’ll probably get a classic burger and fries and eat it really slowly, and maybe by the time I get outside it will be dark and I can get straight to my hotel and go to sleep... ughhh no! I know I shouldn’t be complaining because I wanted to be here. After high school, a lot of my classmates and friends got accepted into these amazing English universities like Oxford and Cambridge, and some other fancy ones I don’t know the names of. While they were getting acceptance letters left, right, and centre to become doctors and professors and Michelangelo-type artists, I decided to study photography right in the city. Since I was a kid my parents would show me pictures of their life before London, when they used to live in Toronto. I would look at the photos all the time and admire the way the CN Tower blinked red over the whole downtown scene, and I always wanted to visit, but never really got the chance. I’ve never really felt at home in London, for no reason in particular, but it always just felt like an extended stay that would soon end. Which I guess in a way it was. In my last year of high school, I realized nothing was really holding me back in London, so I decided to move to Toronto to study photography.

I picked up my bag and put my phone in a basket. I watched as my belongings rolled through the black curtains into the scanner. I took off my shoes and my ring and waited to step through the arch. The lady called me to come forward but I did not move. Why was I so reluctant to join the city that I had admired for years?

Miss, please come forward.

I join reality again and step through the scanner and pick up my things. The decision I made was quite rash. I had no plan, I wasn’t promised to any Canadian university, and I didn’t have a job either. I guess I was so excited by the prospect of living out my dream I hadn’t stopped to think logically. 

What if everything failed and I would have to move back to London? My grades would not support any English university I wanted to go to, which I really don’t.  What if I can’t find a job? Or how long will I have to live in this hotel? And how did I travel across the world by myself with no plan? Maybe these were just dreams, only dreams. What if -

Whoosh

My cloud of worry and overthinking is blown away by the crisp and cold Canadian air as it hits my face. I soon realize that I somehow navigated myself out of the Toronto airport and I also realize that I’m very under dressed for the cold weather. I zip up my jacket higher up to my face and look around. The snow is lightly falling all around, making the sidewalks splotchy and damp. There is a white billboard to the far left with an ad for the new iPhone 12 which provides splashes of colour to the grey-blue monotone building it sits on. To my right, a woman is singing into a microphone, her voice echoing out on the streets with a drummer and guitarist playing their accompanied music behind her. A small group of people crowd around while one person drops a bill into the hat on the floor and then another person does the same. Turning away from the music scene I look in front of me, and look up. There stands a tall tower, that is round and pretty thin, but gets wider to the top, then thins again. A blinking red light on the top of the tower hits me square on the face. 

It was like how the sun shines on a new day. The light is comforting and reassuring. All of my anxious questions and worries feel a mile away, almost as if it hopped on the plane and flew back to London. A new sense of hope and motivation grows inside of me. Maybe I’ll find a new apartment to stay at and I’ll walk along the city passing out my resume to any restaurant I see. I’ll take photos all over the city, and I will take a photo of the place I always admired in my parents' picture. And I know not every day will be perfect and my battle with this city is far from over. There may be days when I hate this city and days when I love it. But I guess you can experience all different kinds of days when you are at home. 

END