It’s hard to overstate how much being in Canada these past few weeks have meant to me. The country, the people, the peace, positivity, politeness, even the ugliest of late November weather. I’ve been able to cobble myself back together, (to a point).
I’m drinking montepulciano with a side of chocolate torte as a Newark airport wine bar plays very good jazz. Having just said goodbye to my family again. Teary eyed.
I stormed back into Canada and frolicked in an early season snowstorm like a child. I smiled at everyone and they almost all smiled back. I saw joy and reflexive kindness and easy interactions everywhere.
I walked my Ottawa neighbourhoods and met old friends. Korean bbq with an owner from Jeonju, where I lived in 2004. Korean chatter with an Ottawan from Morocco, who I last saw in Jeonju in 2004. Christian from Sri Lanka in 2001, over coconut sambal and a conversation with the Mauritian server about Sierre Leone. And Anita who saw us in Rome three times and played the piano at Tiburtina train station for Aleksander. Freshly pulled northern Chinese noodles with Tom from Rome. An Etobian from Pretoria. A Mississaugan from Lima. Christiana from Abu Dhabi then Ankara.
I felt Home. Gleefully so.
Then I went to my family, and nothing else on the planet mattered, finally.
I dove headlong, spritually, metaphysically, into my family’s arms and didn’t let go for any single moment. I absorbed our love. I kissed Elia, hugged Aleksander, embraced Dalia. Saw my mom, brother, cousin, in-laws, high school friends. It was a poem, a movie, the fullest type of living. I visited my dad’s tombstone for the first time since it went up. Strolled with my family along Toronto’s lakefront, my old University campus and through the city’s museum for the first time in decades. Dalia and I went to the Cathedral where we were married, prayed with the priest who presided, got a bubble tea and spiderman balloon at the shopping plaza we used to visit after pre-wedding classes. We passed through almost fifty years of layers of personal history in the place, creating anew every step. It felt like a magical therapeutic immersive video game from the future. Queen’s Quay, Spadina, Bloor, The Junction, Scarlett, Islington, Burnhamthorpe, Mill Rd, Pebble Valley Lane. Seasons of life, and lives from all the seasons. Sprinkles of grey in my friends’ beards, twinkles of gold in my childrens’ eyes. Snow, dinosaurs, aquariums, hot chocolate, matching pj’s. I wrapped up Aleksander in a big warm towel after his swimming lesson, heard Elia fill the hall with giggles in the home we moved to in 1993, during the March Break of grade 9. Reminisced with Ryan about our long ago week in Banff, hugged my neighbours and agreed we should never have left Rome, laughed then cried with Eddie about how life can be so funny and so hard, sometimes at the same time. Dalia and I aimed to watch a movie but never actually managed. We ate pizza and kebabs and roast duck and homemade dinners. We talked about Sudan and Montreal and Vienna. And occasionally the future. Looked forward, hopefully, cautiously, with lingering uncertainty. Always rooted firmly in the present, in our unity, in the calm unassuming greatness of Canada and modern Canadianism.
My old friend Dave, over a pint and some wings, said that he hasn’t had time to follow the situation in the Middle East closely as a working father of three young children. I was up and down with envy at his statement. Maybe at another time I would have judged non-engagement with a global situation more harshly but this is exactly why I wanted to come to Canada myself, to have the possibility to momentarily not care. Not read daily reports, see emerging images, breathe in the tension of a state at war. Canada is not perfect and we heard our fair share of complaints, from education to healthcare to traffic to housing. But I didn’t shy away from reminding people: at least there are no missiles flying overhead. Which, without fail, struck them as entirely other-worldly and mostly alarmist – exactly as it should be.
Stay normal Canada. Please always just be normal.
Dad In The World 