On Living Away From Home

This week I’m back home in Toronto for Canadian Thanksgiving. One of the perks of being Canadian and living in America is that we have two thanksgivings. Ill spend Canadian thanksgiving with my family back home and ill spend American thanksgiving with friends. I don’t have to choose.

The last time I was back home was in May. On the drive back from the airport yesterday, I see a huge new condo complex completed near my house. This didn’t exist 5 months ago. I bought a coffee from Tim Hortons, turns out they sell pizza now. Every time I return to Toronto it feels a bit more foreign. And I probably look foreign too. Everywhere I go I stand out, I forget I’m not in Williamsburg anymore, I don’t have to dress up when going to the grocery store.

During our Europe trip earlier this year, our tour guides would ask us where we are from. My family would answer, “Toronto!” I had to hold myself back from blurting out, “I’m from New York.”

Perhaps this is what it means to live away from home. Toronto was where I was born. Toronto raised me. Mentally, home is New York now. But in my heart, Toronto will always be home.