Sunday Scaries — July 28th

It’s only been three months since I moved to Toronto. Since I stopped making the months I spent commuting my entire personality. But really, a four-hour total commute was a large part of my life this past winter and spring. Now, I savour the 30-minute walk through Chinatown in the mornings and often dread it in the afternoons when the sun is at its peak and my office attire clings to my back in the city’s heat. But I’m outside, I’m not on a cramped train and with that, I’m content.

I’d felt since I moved out of my little top-floor bedroom on Columbia Street West, where I’d lived as a student, that nothing had been mine. That I’d been borrowing cities and bedrooms from people until I was ready to have something of my own. I was living with families as an au pair, climbing the ladders to top bunks in hostel dorms, and sharing rooms with friends across the world who were happy to host me while I travelled. But being in Toronto, in this little student apartment in the Annex, feels like the beginning of making this city mine. I came with just my bedding and clothes and still borrow lots from the other roommates, who had already stacked the too-small kitchen cupboards with all the cooking essentials we could need. And we don’t need three toasters. So instead I brought my books and some belongings and I started to make Toronto feel like it was somewhere I belonged.

After detesting the city as a kid, reserving it only for concerts and the occasional shopping trip as a teenager, I’ve started to find things that are my favourites, that I know and…