My first journal entry dates back to 2008. I was 13 years old. I had just gotten my first period and for some reason I thought that was a date I needed to remember. Up until then I had lived a sheltered life on City Light Rd. in a city called Surat, in western India where I was born and raised. I had two best friends, I remember painting the town red (literally) around Holi, and dressing the streets with lights come Diwali. I was just starting to discover first crushes, when my dad asked my brothers and I if we saw a life for ourselves in Canada. I loved India, it was home but India was and still is a developing country and who was I to say no if a country with endless opportunities wanted me there? With a changing body and perspective I proceeded to change my home for the very first time.
From Western India to Eastern Canada, we landed in Mississauga on November 8, 2008. I spent 10 years here and as I grew into the woman I am, I watched this city grow too. Within 3 days I had already started school and this was the first time in my entire life I felt like I didn’t belong.
My accent was too thick, my clothes were too different. Within the next few months I spent most of my free time watching Disney; this wasn’t entertainment, it was study. I observed how Miley Cyrus or the Jonas Brothers spoke certain words, the clothes the kids on TV wore. I forced my tongue to strip itself of the heavy r’s and emphasized t’s and slip into pop culture. This entire time I told my journal about my days and how different my life was, because the pages didn’t laugh at the way I spoke. Within a year I had friends (and well even a boyfriend), who are now, 10 years later, my family. In no time, Canada became home and I became a proud Canadian before I even earned my citizenship. I was taken by its beauty, and the comfort I found in Sauga every time I explored it. First by foot with my parents, then bikes with my cousins, then cars with my brother and friends.
I was in love with Mississauga and I was prepared to live and die here.
Now of course, after falling for an American husband I wasn’t going to get to grow old and die here. Which brings me to now, this very moment where I find myself sitting on a flight somewhere above Memphis, TN on its way to Houston, TX in southern USA. My country #3. I have two notebooks, terribly torn and battered that I have in my carry-on filled with poems and sketches and thoughts. Now, why do I need to carry two notebooks that no longer have blank pages for me to use? Or why am I randomly telling you about this right now? To be honest, I don’t know. My stomach is churning the closer we approach Houston and the fact that I have these with me is comforting.
A month ago, within a blink of an eye I found my life wiping the blackboard clean, already writing a new chapter when I wasn’t done taking notes on the last one. I am scrambling, panicking, trying to wrap my head around a new country, a new house, a new family, a new job and somewhere in there: new friends.
But if Canada has taught me anything, it’s that new changes can be beautiful. Home can be found in more places than one. I just gotta keep walking and keep exploring. Who knows, Houston too will become home sooner than expected.
So here, as I restart my life once again, I am hoping to find comfort in writing as I have for the past 10 years but this time, I hope to share them with you through this blog.
In an effort to claim this new city, new country as home, I will be celebrating the 4th of July as a person who belongs here. I am immersing myself in this new life.
Happy 4th of July, y’all.
Originally published at http://citylightsandslowsongs.wordpress.com on July 2, 2018.
