When I took this picture, the man in the window was skyping his niece in France. I overheard him talking to her before I stepped outside, and he was so excited about the sunrise that was going on outside of the ferry that he called her to show her the view. I guess he had never taken the ferry before, because he spent the entire ride staring at the waves. and so of course, being sneaky, I went outside to try and take a picture of him. And I’m posting it now cause i would give anything to show my friends from abroad my beautiful city and niche in the world, just like they showed me theirs. Come on guys, you’re all invited. Multilingual party at my place? I’ll provide cheescake. 

Every time there’s strong wind, the way that my house is built causes a low pitched howling to echo throughout my house. It’s particularly loud in my bedroom. When i was younger, it used to scare me. It’s a strange, beautiful noise that doesn’t sound like it should come from the wind. I always imagined ghosts.

Now that I’m older, the whistling doesn’t scare me anymore. I’m used to it. I’ve been through a lot of wind and rainstorms here in my little house. The whistling is almost comforting. It’s like a little, “hey, I’m here, remember me?” from the sky. Or maybe I’m just thinking too much.

Other people, in contrast, are always rather startled when they hear the sound that the wind makes against the frame of my house. an immediate “what’s that noise?” passes their curious and somewhat frightened lips. Still, to this day, it’s second nature for me to say “oh, it’s the ghost”. But not everyone finds that as funny as I do.

So- this noise, this whistle, is a part of my home. It’s been around for as long as my house has been around, and it visits every time the wind picks up. For visitors, it’s scary. But for me, comforting. Welcome, even. This phenomenon of becoming familiar with the frightening, is something that happened a lot on my exchange in France, and will happen again in a larger scale on my longer exchange in Germany. The scary words became my favourite words. The scary people became my best friends. The scary experience became my most cherished memory. It’s no good to be afraid of the unknown. It’s just a matter of looking at things in context, which applies to strange noises late at night, or funny customs in a new culture that you don’t understand yet. My point is that although I am afraid- and i assure you, i have no lack of fear of the unknown- (I’m human. What did you expect?) i know that my fear is useless and unnecessary.

    My plane tickets are booked, my exams are (almost) prepared for, and my last week of Canadian school (for a while, at least) is upon me. This week, although most people don’t realise it, is that last week that I will be going to school with the people that I’ve been stuck with for the last four years. To tell you the truth, it hasn’t been bad at all. And it’s intimidating to wonder how many of them I’ll see again. I’ll leave, they’ll graduate, and we will all be busy and happy in our own little worlds. At the very least, I know for a fact that those who matter will stay in my life, no matter how hard I try to get ride of them. A year really isn’t so long. I’ve proved that by staying in contact with many of my exchange friends from last year. In fact, i’ll be visiting them this July, seeing them for the first time since I left France.

And i’m so scared, but I’m also comforted. I know it will all be wonderful and I will end up in love with my new home, friends, and language.

Here’s a shoutout to the ghosts who are chatting with me while i try to finish my homework, and whom inspired this silly metaphorical post about fear.

Thèse are very few people in a young person’s life that will stay around. teenagers change so rapidly that every new year seems to bring new friends, and old friends fade away just as quickly. But pictured here, in this cute little rectangle of angst, is a dude who has somehow managed to stay fantastic and compatible with my interests, impulsive ideas, & awful sense of humour for what seems like at least 30 years. this guy has unknowingly cheered me up so many times I’ve lost count & he is the person I turn to when I need to get something off my chest. I kinda don’t appreciate him enough sometimes but he’s the most amazing human named Rowan to ever walk this planet and for that I’m eternally grateful.
also, follow his exchange tumblr: eavrth

At this time last year, I was convinced that to feel like myself, I would have to travel far from home. This idea came about by the fact that before I left for the trip of a lifetime, I wasn’t very happy here in my own little city. Or, more specifically, I wasn’t very happy with myself. When I left Canada and spent my three months in France, I was actively living my life to the fullest. I went everywhere I was invited, pushed my boundaries, took some chances, and began to realise that sometimes, I needed to be able to have fun all by myself. I was the happiest I’d been in a long time. I had a new kind of motivation to enjoy myself because I knew that my time in that beautiful country was limited.

As I’ve mentioned before, people (myself included) behave differently when they have a time limit. Daily activities gain significance when there’s a looming sense of finality about them. Of course, it’s slightly terrifying. Especially now, I’m living a life that I’ve known for 16 years- a life that will change drastically two months from now. And although I’m okay with that (actually, I’m much more than okay with it) the thought of that is profoundly present in everything I do. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

This weekend, my plans got cancelled. Because of that, I explored my city, ate Mexican food in a floating restaurant, watched the most beautiful, talented girl I know play violin, celebrated a dear friend’s birthday, got  lost trying to drive to the next city over (a story of a day that warrants its own post), spent time at a cute little farmer’s market, and scared myself half to death. All unplanned, all glorious, and all very final. Even if I wasn’t leaving the country in two months, I would still never have those exact experiences ever again.

What I’m trying to say with all of this is that I realise now that it doesn’t matter where I am in the world. I can be myself and be happy as long as I make an effort to do the things that make me happy. I’m going to enjoy these last weeks here, and leaving is going to be much harder than I thought. But I have so much ahead of me, and I know that the people who love me will be here when I return.

This van had a cat in the back.

An update on that post I made about feeling temporary: I made a new friend last night and I don’t regret it one bit. Here’s Kaylie. She’s really, really cool.

this picture comes with a really great story involving 7 strangers and a lot of coincidence