Thoughts about Toronto - 2020

"It's like feeling isolated. No one here really understands what kind of world I came from, my culture and what I have been used to." I was talking to Mussi in a nice Italian restaurant in the most expensive mall in Sao Paulo, Brazil, the Cidade Jardin mall.

She smiled at me and said: "Linda, just be cautious. When you go back to Canada, you might feel the same way. I am sure Canda is nice but you might feel something is missing there. Just remember that."

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I was walking on Bay Street, Toronto. The east coast was as cold as I remembered. I am here for about 10 days and catching up with a couple of friends. It was nice to know what has everyone been up to and to hear the stories that happened after I left Canda. Though sometimes I stop and wonder, how do I tell them what I have been through?

How can I possibly describe my feeling of standing in front of a convey belt of garbage, tearing up endless garbage bags? The smell, the juice, the feeling when you accidentally opened a garbage bag from a bathroom. My sweat, my unfitted boots, my sour neck.

How can I describe that world, the social contrast, the exotic culture? How can I describe my emotions of leaving, my feeling of loss and guilt?

Some friends didn't bother to ask. It made sense. My world was too far away from them. It's like talking about a classic novel that was written in the B.C. to someone who works in the financial industry in 2020; it's too foreign to know, too useless to understand, and too hard to comment on.

Some friends did ask out of curiosity, but I don't think I did a good job describing it. They all got the idea that Brazil was a pretty terrible country to live in and urge me to come back to Canda.

But, it was not exactly "terrible".

It was not just bad. It was more than that.

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I jumped into an Uber and asked the Uber driver who looks like in his 50s:" where are you from?" as I was looking down on the newspapers that he put in the foot area. The newspapers were in a middle-eastern language that I couldn't recognize.

"Iran" he answered. And he teased me by saying: "you must know a bit of Persian then."

I shook my head and said I wished I could and then I expressed my admiration toward their culture. I knew their country was the start of civilization, I knew their language development, I knew the Persian empire, the incredible empire that ruled from the border of India to Egypt, to Greece, and I have longed to visit.

Due to my inquires, he told me about the weather in Iran, the education system in Iran and the inequality in Iran. I listened like a kid listening to Andersen's fairy tale.

Before I got out of the car, he turned back and said to me: "thank you for asking. It was a wonderful conversation."

I replied: "No, thank you for telling me about your country."

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This time coming back to Toronto was not like other times when I would have a big list of the restaurants and cafes that I needed to try. This time, I only intentionally ate outside food twice and both times were hummus places.

The hummus restaurants were apparently Israeli/Jewish restaurants for both times. I knew that because Lebanese hummus or other Arabic country's hummus, very popular in Brazil and in Vancouver, is different from what I had in Isreal. And I missed the Isreal version so so much.

The first time, I ordered it from Uber Eats. When I opened the door, I was a bit surprised to see an Arabic girl standing in front of me with a warm smile. You could tell she's Arabic because of her clothes.

I didn't expect that because firstly, from what I have seen, girls do not often do delivery jobs and secondary, the distance between Jewish and their Arabic neighbors is real. Nonetheless, of course, this doesn't matter in our context.

The second time, I went into a very small hummus place hiding near Dundas and Young. I sat there and I could feel that I surprised others a bit. I didn't know where others were from, but there was no Asian, some of the others were even speaking in Hebrew.

So maybe it was just how I looked, or maybe it was also how I eat, using my one hand to tear off my pita bread and warp some hummus with eggplants with it, spoon or fork was not needed. Of course, I got to practice this skill in India, In Jordan, and in Isreal. I could do the basics.

When I stood up to leave, a woman who looked like the owner of the restaurant with lots of papers in front of her looked at me intriguingly. I smiled politely and left.

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I was so determined I would never come back to Toronto again, especially during the wintertime that I threw away my Uggs, even left my only down jacket in China. However, Toronto actually surprised me in many ways this time.

I sat in a seat facing the window in a Starbucks on Bay street, thinking about Mussi's words, the story that I wrote down at the beginning of this blog.

I looked out to the window. It's Friday rush hour now. I watched different crowds of people passing by in front of me, among them, you see Black, Latino, Arabic, Asian, White, Indian, you name it. You also see restaurants' names written Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Arabic, or "Roti-to-go" (India cuisine).

All of these people must have their unique stories, a different childhood, or something that others just wouldn't be able to resonate with because we all came from somewhere so far, and the journey to here must have been so different.

And that's the most beautiful part of Canada. Not a kind of accent will make you superior, not a kind of color will make you worth another look.

Mussi was very right about I still felt something's missing after I came back, but in here, I don't feel so lonely.

I put down my thoughts and re-focused on my online Python course. Toronto wasn't so bad after all. I think I will add "Toronto" to my job search location on LinkedIn tomorrow.

-- Jan. 19th 2020 @ Page One Cafe, Toronto