Falling in Love with a City
Almost every immigrant has a "love at first sight story" with Canada. I'm not one of those.
When I landed here for the first time it was on one of those -30 degree weeks, cloudy, with dirt and snow-covered roads. For over a week the sky would stand white, the wind cutting through my flesh straight to the bones and all the layers of clothing gave me were rashes and muscle pain.
Why do people live here? That was all I could think.
I missed the sweet and warm weather of Brazil and the beautiful island where I used to live. Not even the Rocky Mountains – a blast for every newcomer – could cheer me up. For some they were stunning and welcoming; to me, they were a huge wall blocking me from the ocean and leaving me stuck in an icy land.
For months I thought I would follow my plan: study, work hard, and bear with this unrelenting land to be able to enjoy vacations back home. "That's what a lot of people do" I heard said. I had my mind settled on it until the snow melted and the first lilacs started to spread their perfume through my window every morning. I didn't know it at that time, but I was slowly falling for Calgary.
It wasn't an easy relationship at all, I have to say. I didn't know the language or the city. I was struggling to survive between college classes and long shifts at a catering company and a coffee shop. I couldn’t be further from my dream of being a writer, and ‘survival’ was the only word that got me out of bed every morning.
Survival had always been my guiding principle. Brazil is one of the most dangerous countries in the world to be a woman and growing up there means being guided by fear in order to survive. It's not about being harassed or not, but rather when and how to get out of a situation alive. I moved to Calgary hoping to leave that behind.
As an introverted kid growing up in a big and loud family, I expressed myself through my writing from an early age. I would pretend to be a teacher with my cousins and lead hour playtimes with stories about adventures on our grandpa's farm, inventing monsters behind the mango trees and leprechauns living in our vegetable gardens. That farm was my magic place, where I was safe from the rest of the world.
When the summer came, I had to make a choice in my assignments: write to please my teachers and get good grades, or write to please myself. Regardless of the consequences, I choose the second. While my classmates were covering emergencies and hot topics around the city, I was hunting for stories around the locals: businesses, artists, and communities. I used my assignments to connect myself with the city and, as fall is the season of lovers, I fell in love with the city.
I would take my camera and notepad and just walk, with my bad English and good snickers, talking to people, taking pictures, asking questions. I drank from the spring and summer season festivals, connected with people from all over the world, enjoyed accents, colours, music, food and all cultural aspects I could never imagine in my wildest dreams I would experience one day. I wasn't on the farm anymore. The adventures were real and right in front of my eyes.
Unfortunately, COVID hit exactly when my love was growing and, like everybody else, life became about surviving again. But now I had hope.
Driven by my summer memories, I finished my studies, got some jobs and kept myself going, until the day I subscribed to a new program to support newcomer artists in Calgary. Would I dare call myself an artist then? No, but I tried anyway and, to my surprise, I was accepted.
The Immigrant Council for Arts Innovation showed me that yes, I was an artist; and yes, I have a place here. Over the months of my mentorship, I could learn more about all the amazing organizations around our city and the opportunity for emerging artists like me. I learned about adapting my work to different platforms, industries, and, most of all, I learned how my accent and my “broken English” are a strength instead of a weakness.
In my first year here, I used to spend time at the Elbow River shore, closing my eyes and remembering the ocean back in Brazil. I would miss the salty water and the warm wind. Since I fully opened myself to experience this city and the people who live in it, I became more connected.
My born country will always be a great memory and a great place in my heart and my heritage, but Calgary is my chosen home. It is where I let the chill spring winds touch my skin while the first waves of oak mulch announce the flower explosion about to take place in our streets and parks.
Calgary opened itself to me and many other newcomers, and thanks to great amazing people, I can keep experiencing and translating dreams into words.
