I started grade eleven in Newmarket, a small town North of Toronto four years ago. During my first year in Canada, things were not the easiest. I had a far-distance relationship to maintain and marks to keep up. But more importantly, I lived in a newly developed town with not so many places to visit. Though it was a tough time, I made the most out of my years in Newmarket. I visited museums, dined at a ramen place opening event, and lived on mall bubble tea for most of my weekends. I missed Saigon, the city where I grew up. I missed the heavy traffic. I missed visiting a new restaurant every week and not having to wait half an hour for a bus in the cold.
That’s why I decided to choose Toronto as my new destination. It is not the New York I saw in Sex and the City. But it is the big city where I can see myself fitting in. That was when I began to take trips back and forth to visit Toronto. I enjoyed walking around busy parks with a cup of Starbucks in my hand. I enjoyed picking up my then-partner at Pearson airport, watching his cheeks flush in the cold air. I also enjoyed the bustling nightlife of the Distillery District. I began to love sneaking into clubs with my fake IDs and having snacks while looking out of the Ritz window.
That was the Toronto I knew before I became who I am today.
The Toronto I currently live in is not a blurry vision out of romance novels. Not the big city you sneak into with your high school boyfriend. It is the land of dreams and ambition. It is a place to get really busy in the morning so that you enjoy your deep sleep at night. I still love this city the way Carrie Bradsaw loved New York.
Everyday, I would ride the subway to school, watching busy people running up and down the staircases at Saint Claire Station. Then after lecture I would sit under sun and the fallen leaves, enjoying the sandwich I homemade. On weekends I would visit a new cafe, hoping I might see somebody there while enjoying my indie drink. On some Saturdays I buy myself dinner at the Moxie Grill downtown. I would order myself a beef tartar and a glass of rose. Then on Sunday flipping through my laundry basket, I thought to myself I would do all of this again tomorrow.
Then one day, I was sitting at Dineen on Yonge, and someone did come along.
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