A year ago today, I arrived at Pearson International Airport with one big suitcase, knocked numb and hazy from Cat's wisdom tooth surgery painkillers she had given me to soothe my nerves for the plane. The reality of the move sunk in as I rode in the stiflingly hot backseat of my aunt's car.
That night, Felizia and I walked to the Big Carrot. I bought juice and vegetables to calm me. I got out a little piece of paper and called Andrew, asked him if he and Paul were still coming to visit me the next day. I put on the new shoes my dad had bought me. I cried as quietly as I could.
I thought of the little calendars I had kept in my room for months, counting down the days until I moved. I thought about how I stopped ticking the boxes towards the end. I thought about excited whisperings to Cat and Alison at Louis' one march night.
There are so many ways this place has become home, big and small: heartbreak, building a map of the city in my head, making fantastic friends, a shitty job, a great job, the discovery of beautiful tiny city secrets, getting lost and found on public transit, falling in love.
Tonight my roommates (upstairs and downstairs) are having a barbecue (and don't worry, there will be veggie burgers, and they will be grilled first) and I couldn't imagine better timing.
It is a good time for me to be alive.
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