Last updated on November 17th, 2020 at 11:21 am
For the #Chronicle150, one thing I really appreciate is when people don’t feel forced to stick to the script.
I met Talia when scouting contributors for this year’s Tales from the 2.9, quickly intrigued when I realised she holds a degree in professional writing from York University!
I’ve developed a real love for the craft over the years, so I immediately respect when others show the same, and I think you’ll see it in Talia’s piece for the #Chronicle150—those years of investment shining through in the story of how she came to Canada and the path to where she is now!
I hope you enjoy Talia’s post below—it’s a great read!
We’ll see you tomorrow for the next post in the #Chronicle150!
Until then,
–case p.
My earliest memory of Canada includes a strange collection of items that are surely not uniquely Canadian, but in my mind, are inextricably linked to Canada—flurries, capri pants, and Swedish meatballs.
My family and I moved here sort of accidentally in the fall of 2002. After more than 18 hours driving from Kissimmee, Florida to Toronto to visit my stepfather’s sister and renew his Canadian passport, complications with U.S. immigration led to an unexpected resettlement. Goodbye, Florida sun. Hello, Canadian chill.
It was October, to be exact, during one of those years when winter crept in early. Lawns were still covered in red, yellow and orange leaves, shaken from the trees by gusts of wind that were colder than any breeze I had ever experienced. Before Florida, I had only lived in my homeland, Barbados, so Canada’s chilly temperatures were a first for me. I was fascinated by the sight of my breath suspended in the cool autumn air. I took every opportunity I could get to stand outside and puff little clouds out above my head.