“Short” list of 7 things

Trigger Warning: Mentions of the genocide happening in Palestine, violence against women, and bigotry in general.

Let me tell you about the 7 things I’m most grateful for living in Canada.

One: the seasons–except for the dreadful winter. Living in Mexico, depending on where you were, there was only hot and cold, heavy rain in April, Jacarandas in spring, greener grass in summer, and a handful of pretty colours all year round. In Canada, getting past the frio culero, you almost feel like an excited child watching the distinct change each season, just like in the movies. I’ll never forget my mother’s childlike wonder when she saw the thousand shades from yellow to red on the ground, in the tall tall trees, in the air falling all around.

Two: my queerness. The fall was not the only bouquet of colours introduced to me by Canada, since it also opened my eyes to the colourfulness inside me. Had it not been for the eternity on lockdown and being asked my pronouns at every new class, I would’ve taken way longer to discover just how full of colour I was too. Filled with shades from red to purple, with pink, blue, white, brown, and black. Younger me would’ve never guessed I was made of rainbows and not black and white stripes.

Three: teaching me how to be grateful. For 17 years, I was surrounded by a beautiful colourful culture, con rich history and delicious food de sobra–and I didn’t truly appreciate it. La cultura mexicana siempre había estado ahí. Los colores, los tacos al pastor, el apapacho del español mexicano y el apoyo de Doña Mary y Don Agustín, they were always there. So I took them for granted… until I stopped seeing them every day. Every few months during a holiday, every Sunday when we went out for lunch, even the schedule of a meal. I never would’ve thought how much I would miss lunch being the most important meal of the day instead of dinner, so much that we never called it lunch, but everyone knew cuando era la hora de la comida.

Four: multicultural exposure. Of course, Mexico is nothing but culturally rich and there are many cultures within, but I had never lived in a place where one didn’t prevail above all. I had never been exposed to so many bright colours other than the ones in my own home. It seemed that people felt the desperate need (as I did) to spread their colourful cultures all around as a means to stay closer to home, which only seemed to get farther away. But also, to put some colour on this gloomy grey land, dried and stripped of all the rich cultures that used to thrive and prevail all around before colonialism.

Five: social and self-awareness. Living in Canada made me realize how ignorant I was. Before here, I was a privileged Mexican white girl. Now, I’m still a privileged Mexican white girl-ish, but what I didn’t know is how one of these was synonymous with the other. Before living in Canada, I had no clue about my white privilege, or my skinny privilege, or my able-bodied privilege. Better said, I had no clue what privilege was, that I even had it, or that I could do something with it. Before Canada, the only privilege I was aware of was that of having food on my plate and a roof over my head–manipulative parents’ favourite argument when you’re being ‘a little too ungrateful’–but a privilege nonetheless.

Six: my cat. When I lived in Mexico, I was a dog person. I thought cats to be cute as all other animals but nowhere near as loyal or affectionate as dogs. Clearly, I had never truly met or had a cat. Because when I met Sookie, I was proven right about affection of course, because if she likes something it is her space, but I couldn’t be more wrong about loyalty. That little hairball of love is the most loyal being alive. She loves her space, yet she purrs and stays by my side when she knows I’m anxious. She is independent, but she stays by the bathroom door whenever I go in, making sure I come out safely from any danger within. She’s not a dog and she has brought more happiness to my life than I thought possible.

Seven: my love for photography. Being a writer was all I ever wanted most of my life, my biggest dream was writing a New York’s best seller. And I was able to be only a writer… for a while–and I still am. But had it not been for the openness in courses and the diversity for career paths at my Canadian university, I never would’ve found the wonderful worlds of photography and film, and how much my creativity thrives in them. Of course, I’m still a writer and I always will be, but thanks to studying in Canada, I know now how many stories and poems I can tell in a single photograph, or how much of a novel I can tell in a 3-minute film.

Now, it is only fair that I balance this long list and tell you about the 7 things I hate the most about Canada.

One: the cold. Odio el pinche frío con todo mi ser. I was a team cold kind of person before moving to Canada, that is a fun dispute we have back home–team cold vs team hot–because that is the kind of silly things we do as a community. But here there are no teams. There is only the cold, all over your face, your fingers, your body, even your hair, everywhere all the damn time. Or at least most of the year. And you can only hope that you can survive until April when the sun starts to come out.

Two: everyone’s fake politeness and lack of community. This country is so covered by cold and snow, that it has given people a state of frozen fake politeness. Canadians have grown famous for being nice and well mannered, that it almost feels like an obligation to them. So they fake the niceness, and they will do so forever, because they lack what we have in other places, which is a great sense of community that comes with a genuine desire to help and be kind. Just as the support of Doña Mary y Don Agustín, who are always first to help when you need to learn how to sow, o la receta del queso relleno que tanto necesitas. They always know someone when you need to paint your walls on a budget o arreglar la tubería de tu casa porque se ha vuelto un tremendo inundadero.

Three: the bigotry. More specifically how they express it. Along with the nationwide lessons on good manners, they secretly included sessions to teach you how to be the biggest bigot while being perfectly polite. Classes on backhanded compliments and a condescending but ‘educated’ tone, to leave people wondering every now and then if how well they speak English was actually a compliment, or if they were truly admiring your appearance when they tell you you pass so well, because they never would’ve guessed you’re trans or gay. Not to say that in Mexico there is no bigotry–because there is–and the discrimination is more upfront, but the compliments are always genuine when they come from the right people.

Four: how far away I’m from everyone and everything. They always tell you part of the downside to the ‘American Dream’ (or the ‘Canadian Dream’ in this case). Of course, skipping the part of the loud xenophobia and blatant racism from goodie-goodie Canadians, and how much it actually is like the U.S., they’re just better at hiding it, no matter how superior they feel to them. But what they don’t tell you is how it will feel like there’s part of you missing. The part of how peaceful and easygoing you feel with your friends back home, or the part of you that feels so warm when sharing a meal with your family, or the happiness in your stomach after eating a delicious guisado or anything fried from the fritanga stand, or how in community you feel when a holiday is around, or when your country has moved to quarter finals in the world’s cup. You can only bring so much of home with you, but the rest has to stay back.

Five: how expensive everything is. Everyone back home either praises or jokes about me living in a ‘first world’ country. Though sometimes, and for many people, it doesn’t feel like one. The taxes and prices are always too high and the incomes too low. Almost $5 for a simple dozen eggs and basically no way to get a meal for under $10, or the over $1000 round trip if you want to see your family back home. Never mind that going to the movies for $15 a ticket or going out to dinner for a $20 meal (+18% tip) feels like a luxury. No no, it’s all worth it because you get to live in Canada! Where the average income cannot even begin to cover the average $2400 a month of rent. We seem to have very little money to cover a lot of basic human needs, yet we seem to have plenty to make unfriendly architecture for people experiencing homelessness, or fund a genocide.

Six: the scam behind health care. Another one of Canada’s famous great qualities. Except they don’t tell you about the eternity that you have to wait and wait and wait and wait to see a specialist only to be dismissed in a second. So–many–people after waiting to get an appointment for months get told in two seconds to exercise more as a remedy for their chronic pain. But insurance covers it! So here’s half the supply of the medication you need, because if you want more then you better have a permanent position at your job, or a permanent residency in Canada. You don’t? Well, don’t forget to exercise, lose weight, eat healthier and oh, that’ll be $1000.

Seven: the lies and hypocrisy. Because we’ve all heard of the liberal utopia. Welcome to Canada! Where we love 2SLGBTQIA+ people, we care about women’s and disability rights, and we aren’t racist like in dangerous scary America. Except for the passing of bills that put trans youth at risk, all the missing and murdered Indigenous women, not letting people with down’s syndrome or autism become Canadian citizens and the very Canadian essence in police brutality. This is a great place for immigration! We welcome refugees with open arms, as long as they come from Europe. Because isn’t this what Canada is all about? Isn’t Canada so great?

Isn’t Canada so great? Isn’t Canada so…?