Away and Home

I stare at the lady wanting to take in every detail, hoping she doesn't catch my gaze. She's walking so fast that her laptop bag is bouncing back and fourth against her thigh. She's raising her voice at the unlucky person on the other end of the phone and probably wouldn't noticed anyways.

I wonder what it's like being her - maybe not so angry, I smirk. She's the perfect symbol of the land of opportunities.

Just under 10,000 kilometers from my last home in Syria, I'm the first one of my family here. I had dreamed multiple times of what it would be like to live in Canada and was lucky to be the oldest with no brothers. I really want to be a musician but would never have told my family that part before I left so, I said Doctor and they accepted it.

How hard can it be here? It has to be easier.

I have about $4,000 - more than I've ever had in my life.

I should be able to live off this for a long time. Maybe I can get a guitar too? I can't wait to see the flat- sorry, apartment, I correct myself and smirk again through fragmented thoughts.

My mind wanders to the waterfront apartment I must be staying at, overlooking the city, to my balcony where I'd enjoy a Tim Hortons coffee - at least that's what I think. I think of my first visit to the notorious coffee shop, when the lady behind the counter wasn't quite as excited as me. She did not look like the lady in the commercial smiling.

My accommodations would be a little different from what was painted beautifully in my mind as would my, we'll call it adventure to becoming a musician, but my awe of the city sounds and shops was so cutely oblivious that the day let me think whatever my heart desired.

I'm getting hungry.

My suitcases are getting heavy.

The streets, heavily lined with a kaleidoscope of different looking people match the shops and restaurants that also line them and feel more overwhelming than exciting.

I have no idea what to eat - "Excuse me," a blonde girl from a group of three not so forgiving looking girls, that I'm apparently blocking, says from the doorway of one restaurant. And so, I make my way in as to avert attention from looking incredibly lost.

The restaurant looks nice but I'm captivated by the server's beauty and her form-fitted, black dress. I notice her shape right away while trying not to make it obvious. I feel more frumpy the more I stare at her in awe in my long, black, shapeless skirt my mother made me and worn sweater that a has a lot more give.

I knew I shouldn't wear this. Buy a new outfit, I make a mental note.

The girl's now looking at me as if she asked me something and has been waiting a century for a response, though I didn't hear anything while I was staring at her like a stalker, so I nod and let a feeble, "Ah, yes," slip out of my lips.

She takes me to a booth and I now notice that the restaurant is a little fancier than I expected but I do have $4000, so what am I going to need with all that?

She drops down a menu without making eye contact and says something quickly, "Your server will be w... you... short..."

I thought Canadians are supposed to be friendly. It may be harder to make friends here than I think, I laugh to myself.

I look at the menu and take an immediate second glance trying to clear my vision, which must be blurry. $20 for French fries and what in the world is truffle?!

The server approaches and says her name - this girl's nice. I remember not to stare this time though I think I still do. Can she start me with a drink, I believe she said. I've never been very good with math but I know the French fries are worth more than 100,000 of my money back home so I wonder if I can even afford water here. I want to ask what truffles are but I also don't want to bring any more attention to me than necessary so, I just accept that they're a type of fine metal.

"No, thank you."

She looks at me a little confused but says she'll bring me water. I try to cover the panic on my face - how much is the water?

I can feel my face turning red and my heart beating quickly, what I'll later understand is anxiety, but all I know is, I want out.

I slide out the booth, grab my two suitcases and A-line for the door, keeping my head focussed on the ground, with the sound of plastic wheels rolling across the floor as I slip out unscathed.

It's darker outside now, but almost as busy with a new crowd that I fit even less in with - great.

I seem to not be so hungry though and I scan the streets, looking around for something familiar - anything, while also admiring all the unique faces. For a second, it feels like I'm visiting all these different countries that I haven't even looked up on the internet back home - when it actually works. My thoughts trail as I remind myself that, technically, this is home now.

I start to feel a bit homesick.

I wonder what Umm and Abu are doing.

- And that's when I see it - the neon, yellow light emanating from the golden arches on the corner. McDonalds - something I know. It looks busy but there could be a lineup around the block and I'd still wait in it.

I make my way forward feeling a bit better. It's about two blocks away. The streets are loud and filled with women in short dresses and heels mixed with men and people in tattered clothes sitting on the corners who don't seem to have homes of their own. I feel a bit sad for them. Their eyes look lost and their clothes look soiled. I didn't think I'd see such a contrast here in how people live.

I'm just a block away now and can see two men stumbling who appear to have drank too much. They're hanging onto each other and talking awfully loud into each other's ears for the distance they are to each other.

This is such a strange city. I wonder if this will ever feel normal.

I've made it. The place lights up the block with its bright interior. My stomach grumbles and I make my way in. I've never been so happy to be in a lineup. I nervously scan the menu above me for the prices - It's high but much better.

I now have about $1385 left but at least these French fries weren't $20. I grab my meal and try to find a table, which is harder than you think carrying two suitcases. I wish I could just leave them somewhere or give them to the man laying outside the entrance so that I don't have to carry them anymore but I remind myself, stop complaining.

- Most of them have people at them. The empty ones are dirty. They all seem a bit dirty but I find the cleanest looking one and plop down letting out a sigh of relief. It feels so good to rest my arms, which feel like they're about to fall off.

I take a sip of the Coca Cola - I believe they call it, "pop" here - it taste's different, and I open the first cheeseburger and take a bite.

Mmm, McDonalds tastes good in Canada - a bit different. We don't have many in Syria - a handful in the country and we rarely ate it back home.

I take in the people around me. Most of them look to be having fun. Some just look sleepy and slouched over.

I wonder if I'll ever fit in here.

It's time to go to my home. I haven't seen it yet. I have the address written on the corner of an envelope in my purse. Relief sets in. Soon I'll be able to view the city from storeys above. I feel like it will feel safer there - less hectic. At least this is what I think, as I picture my penthouse-esque suite because, I'm in Canada now. I know there won't be much furniture but I do know that there's a bed that I can't wait to lay on. It's getting late as well and Umm and Abu will worry if I don't call them soon.

I grab the suitcases, for what will hopefully be one of the last times, and drag them out to the street to wave down a taxi. I wait a bit, tired, leaning on my suitcase until it finally drives by and I let out a squeal, louder than anything that's come out of my mouth in a while, waiving my hand, like I've seen done in some of the American movies I've watched. It works.

The man is nice - quiet. I show him the envelope and we are off.

We seem to be getting farther and farther from the lights and action, which I don't mind at first. It was a bit overwhelming for me.

We're still driving.

The city lights are gone. All that's left is the imprint in my mind like a star leaves on the sky when we see it lightyears later. We arrive about an hour later at a rundown looking building but it must look different inside. I'm not new to older buildings so this doesn't alarm me but, this is Canada.

I look at the meter for the first time as the man waits patiently.

$91.37?! What is this place? A taxi would cost about a quarter of that back home.

I try not to show the terror on my face and reluctantly hand over the $100 bill. It would pay one month's rent for a 1 bedroom apartment outside of the centre back home. I wait for my change but I remember that you must tip here. I now have $1285. I just want my bed.

The man helps me with my suitcases and I enter the building once a sleepy man at the front desk lets me in. There's a lot of dark red carpet and gold accents. He asks for my ID. I don't have ID. After calling someone and not appearing to be too happy about it, he gives me the key to 418.

Apartment 418 will be my new home.

I ask him where the lift is and it takes him a second. "Er, elevator?"

"Yes."

He motions in some direction, which is barely one direction but I'm too tired to ask again so, I grab the boulders attached to my arm and wander through the short entrance to find my way and enter the, ah, elevator. It is also very red and gold. I press 4.

It feels like forever but I know I'm tired as well. I'm excited but getting nervous. I walk out of the elevator and smell an assortment of different foods lingering on the walls and carpet that lead the way home.

It feels like the butterflies will jump right out of my stomach. I've heard the term before in a movie and it really does feel like that. I make my way around a corner and straight to what appears to be the end of a hall across from a room with a different metal door.

I wonder what that room is?

I read, GARBAGE ROOM - Great.

I slip the key in the door. It's a little tough to turn but eventually opens when I hold the door towards me and turn it. I take a deep breath and open the door on the exhale. It's not bad. It's a small room with a small bed by a small window with yellowish walls. There is no balcony and there are no city lights. I don't think the room could fit much else, which I guess means I don't have to buy much with my dwindling riches.

I leave the suitcases at the door. I never want to see them again. It's very stuffy inside though, so I try to crack the window open. It doesn't open.

What is the point of a window that doesn't open?

I take off my shoes and lay on the bed in my clothes. The lights are on. I'll just close my eyes for a second and then call Umm and Abu. I drift off though to a world so different than this, on a stage surrounded by people and lights.