Daydream

I. When We Arrived 

Pilot on the PA system: Ladies and gentlemen we will soon arrive at the Toronto Pearson Int'l Airport. The date today is October 2, 2023, and the local time is 8:00 p.m... Thank you for flying with us. 

Toronto Pearson Int'l Airport. I'll never forget that place -- partially because it's where my dad and brother got lost on one of those airport train thingies that takes you from one terminal to another; but mostly because we almost got sent back to the Philippines by the immigration officers (who misunderstood something about our visa) when we had just arrived. 

It was an exhausting 15-hour and 30-minute flight. We were scurrying around the airport with a bunch of luggage, backpacks, and food whilst experiencing jet lag and sleep deprivation. However, I was oblivious to all these things -- I was too busy looking at all the different faces that were there and literally going "Oh my gosh that person looks so cool" in my head every time we'd walk past someone.

As Asian immigrants, perhaps we were thought to experience the inferiority complex when being around people of other ethnicities. This, I figured, because our grandfather always told his "You're not inferior just because you're Asians" speeches; but not me. Maybe it was because I never saw other people of different ethnicities as superior in the first place, so I never really had the notion of being inferior. There was just something within me that got psyched seeing all the people of different races walking around the airport; it felt like an unquenchable thirst -- like a surge of eagerness. 

We stayed at the airport for the night. While I was eating dinner, my dad told me to go charge our phones. I took them to the nearest charging station and was assigned the task of just sitting there and not going anywhere because I had to keep an eye on our devices. Easy enough, but there was one thing I hadn't realized -- the only seat available near the charging station was next to a girl -- around the same age as me -- and her pillow was on the supposedly empty seat. Outside, I was staring blankly at the seat next to her; but internally, I was saying "OH MY GOSH WHAT DO I DO WHAT DO I SAY." I was a nervous wreck -- not because I was afraid, but because I actually had the chance to talk to a Canadian. I promptly told myself to toughen up and ask her if I could sit next to her. And so I did, and I made my first friend in Canada right there and then -- at the Toronto Pearson Int'l Airport. 

Her name was Megan. 

II. Windsor & the Fall Season

We flew to Windsor the following day. It was during our walk to the plane that we had our first taste of the fall wind -- the cold air travelled down to my lungs and seeped through my skin. I felt so alive -- the air was crisp and fresh. It felt light, compared to the heavy, humid air in the Philippines.

 

Windsor from above during the fall season was gorgeous -- the leaves of the trees were so many other colors than just green, and the sun gave the ground a warm and familiar feeling.  

Our grandparents drove us around Windsor and we marveled at the orange autumn leaves -- of how they were carried up from the ground and danced around in the breeze, and of how they made Canada look so magical. 

(See https://www.instagram.com/p/Cjd75BHuKqr/)

However, as the days passed and the weather got colder, my family and I found ourselves extremely homesick. 

It was during those times that I wrote my blog entitled "Luha" (luha = tears). Although we've been in the country for more than a week, I haven't made any new friends since Megan. And so, when we started the search for my school, I was exhilarated. 

III. Sandwich

It was funny, actually, because even when we were still in the Philippines, I was already convinced that I'd go to Vincent Massey. 

Why? Well, just because I didn't want to go to a school named after food, and I wasn't really left with a lot of options.

Pretty ironic, I'd say, how my grandfather convinced me to go to Sandwich. But I guess it wasn't all on him -- when I saw the school's soccer team doing warmups on the field, I immediately — and I mean IMMEDIATELY — wanted to go there. One could say it was a pretty impulsive decision -- and it was; but they somehow showed high school life and spirit in its simplest form, and I think that's what drew me in the most. 

I met a lot of new people on my first day. Well, I could say I met one person, who knew another person, who knew more people and more until eventually I just knew a bunch of people there. 

I remember complaining to her at lunch how the cafeteria only had pizza, cookies, fries, and other stuff that was NOT rice, to which she snapped back with "How many Asians do you think go here for them to actually cook rice." Well, A LOT, in fact. But I guess most of them were whitewashed, and I still have no idea how people there survive lunch with just a protein shake and an apple (like my friend, Sarah T^T). 

I went with her friend group only once -- I couldn't really keep up with all of them walking around in the hallways, and I preferred sitting down while eating anyway. Although I tried looking for them, they were actually pretty hard to spot -- especially when a bunch of high schoolers were stampeding through the halls during lunch break. 

So, for the next two days, I was hanging out with other friend groups to see if I'd fit in, but their lunch setup likewise didn't work out for me. I ate lunch alone for the next week or so; only after this did my first friend notice me eating lunch alone in student services and began to accompany me every lunch period. 

Still, I spent a lot of hours at school alone -- that being the one hour and a half I spend every after dismissal. It was during these solitary times that I started getting thoughts about how I socialized with people and what I thought I was doing wrong (which I actually wrote in my previous blog "Meet Me Where I'm At").

I found my lunch buddies a few weeks after. It was funny, actually, since the girl I asked if I could eat lunch with was the same girl I asked where the A hall lockers were on my first day (all the hallways looked the same and I got lost more than once looking for my locker and classes). I started eating lunch with them more and more often until I started doing it every day. My days were less gloomy from then on, and I was so glad that I finally found people I could hang out with and finally be able to drop that high school loner role. 

From left to right: Nayab (with the hijab), Annabelle (bottom left corner), Preksha, Saavi, Duaa (black hijab), & Ferida (white hijab)

(From left to right) Nayab, Duaa, Carmen, & Preksha 

I met even more people and made friends when I joined the yearbook and peer helpers club. :) 

Left to right: Daniella, me, & Mishal (who doesn't really like her pictures being taken )

Me and Taylor during Grade 8 Parent night. 

There's so much more to the story; but for now, indeed, school was a journey. With early morning bus rides to school; making missing buses an almost daily routine; talking to my friends about 💁🏽‍♂️💁🏻‍♂️using code names; all the tea spilling moments me and my friends have during gym; & just walking down the hallways of a Canadian school in general -- it truly was a precious experience that remains alive and vivid today as I treasure every single moment of it.  

IV. Family: The Truth of the Matter Hidden Behind Closed Doors 

(This topic is sensitive so I chose to not elaborate on certain details.)

I remember arriving home one weekend from volunteering with the lights dim and the whole house silent. My mom was sick. My dad was asleep, exhausted from his midnight shift at work. My brother had his own little world on the lonely couch in the living room. 

I remember my parents telling me how hard it was for them to keep pushing through -- how there wasn't really a certainty in our PR status, how we were chasing things that were so out of reach, and how difficult it was for them to believe that our would-be life in Canada was worth fighting for. 

I tried to be unconcerned about these things. I tried to convince myself "Sa una lang naman mahirap. Kailangan, magtiyaga muna." (It's only difficult in the start. For now, we just have to keep pushing through.) 

I tried to ignore whenever I saw my parents looking sad or staring off blankly. When my parents would tell me about their concerns, I tried to not let it get to me. I didn't want to have to feel that lump in my throat and fight back tears as they spoke, so I just pretended like the rants weren't that big of a deal -- that it was just a phase we had to go through. 

The thing is, I could be strong enough for myself -- to keep having that will power to get up every morning at 5:30 for a class that starts at 8:15, do my morning routines while my mom and brother are asleep, pack up and bring lunch, a gym bag, & a heavy backpack, all the while wearing a winter coat, take the transit bus in the freezing cold, do chores in the chilly basement after school, and then do school work -- every single day. Sometimes, I felt like I was likewise crumbling under the pressure, although occasionally so. Even deeper, more personal reasons and concerns kept coming up that made things even more difficult to bear (reasons I wish I could elaborate on, but can't). Seeing my parents in their state had me resolute to keep being strong not just for me, but also for them. 

I did my best to be strong for them.... 

cont'd, April 12, 2024

...But I couldn't do it alone. 

I remember sitting on my bed locked up in solitude crying my heart out to God. We were going back to the Philippines and I learned that I would have to repeat one whole school year since my Canadian education was too different from the PH curriculum. All that time, I was resilient, but not because I was  in myself -- it was because God allowed me to be resilient. More resilient, in fact, than how I normally would be. I would be surprised at my own reactions when my family felt the need to share our "tragic" situations. None of it just sunk into me; I maintained positive and just on and about my own business (a.k.a., school, chores, volunteering, etc.). But for some reason (which may or may not be due to hormonal imbalances accompanied in the monthly you know T^T), I was bawling my eyes out at everything that has happened to us lately. 

My theme song was "Even If" by MercyMe, and if you do so much as to even just read the lyrics, you'd understand the exact feeling I was experiencing at the moment: 

[Verse 1]

They say sometimes you win some
Sometimes you lose some
And right now, right now I'm losing bad
I've stood on this stage night after night
Reminding the broken it'll be alright
But right now, oh right now I just can't

[Verse 2] 

It's easy to sing 

When there's nothing to bring me down
But what will I say
When I'm held to the flame
Like I am right now

[Chorus] 

I know You're able and I know You can

Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don't

My hope is You alone 

[Verse 3]

They say it only takes a little faith
To move a mountain
Well good thing
A little faith is all I have, right now
But God, when You choose
To leave mountains unmovable
Oh give me the strength to be able to sing
It is well with my soul

Fast forward to when we arrived in the Philippines, I only then realized that I had such a crazy faith then; crazy faith, in the sense that I was so resilient to the point that it was shocking even to me. It was later on revealed to me by God that my parents needed a figure of resilience in the family, so He blessed me with a "leveled-up" faith during our six-month stay. 

But why am I saying all this on the 12th day of April, year 2024, at 12:21 a.m.? Well, to cut to the chase (which I may have to just throw in without much context for now), I have recently been feeling that my "writing sense" was diminishing. The still small voice inside that told me if a sentence was constructed satisfyingly; if the ideas flowed seamlessly from one paragraph to another; if the diction usage was accurate and cohesive; etc. 

So, tonight, I asked God why. Then, I was reminded of my Canada blog. (Although, to be honest, I already sensed that something was off after I wrote this, but I chose to ignore the gut-feeling.) I reread Chapter IV, and I realized that I have been taking the credit of "being strong" all to myself. I was spewing self-centered talk when my resilience should have been attributed to the One who gave me that ability. Now, I just want to clarify that yes, I have been strong; but no, I did not and could not have done it on my own, nor do I take any credit for it. God used me for His glory, and I am honored and grateful to be a vessel of His strength for those around me who needed it.  

My first friend at Sandwich, Ariana. 

Other close friends, Sarah, Emerson, & Alicia (left to right). 

One of my closest, Duaa <3

My Filipino friends, Erin, Christynne, & Bianca 

We may be 11,138 km apart, but to me, you're just a daydream away.

-- Sodenitte