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Coming Home

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Before leaving home, I remember hearing the words reverse culture shock and being amused at the thought of alienating Melbourne. For sure, I anticipated to be estranged in Montréal not just linguistically, but also in terms of common street courtesies and such. I had initially thought that Montréal was similar to Melbourne with its focus on promoting the arts and nourishing the community through its local projects.

I found a piece of my heart calling this libertine and very French city home. After finding myself a trustworthy cliqué to explore what the city had to offer, I was confident and most importantly, comfortable in my surroundings, often even endeavouring to speak in French. The winter was less unbearable with company, especially when I had someone to finally drink with…It could not have been more perfect when the month of May brought the beginnings of spring and there was finally green in the streets.

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I eventually had to face the reality that I was coming back to Melbourne and endure another 3-4 months of winter. Sure, it would be more bearable than the Montréal cold that should have toughened me up by then, but the thought of it still pangs.

But it wasn’t the weather that shook my fantasies. Landing in Melbourne, being surrounded by English speakers and seeing my family after 5 months were all well and good…though I could not help but feel that there was something gone. Even to this day, roughly a week after my arrival, I cannot quite explain what it is that I think is…missing.

Perhaps it’s the independence that I miss, the freedom to travel around the city without ever feeling the need go home at a certain time (thanks to STM). Perhaps it’s the delicate balance of French Canadian and North American cultures, that gave me the chance to practice mon Français and switch to English as soon as I was too tired (or too elementary) to respond. Perhaps it’s a melange of all that and something more…the people I met, the experiences, bad and good, that I had.

The freedom of just being whoever the hell I wanted to be.

I reassured myself that once I have saved up enough and am more capable in French, I can always return to Montréal…but it’ll never be the same. That annoying roommate, that one night when I had too much vodka…they’re only memories now. And perhaps I could never ever relive the fun that I had then, but these memories will forever be a part of who I am.

Que sera, sera

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I have learnt on my trip that things never goes as planned. Never.

I pride myself on being meticulous with organisation, down to the details of arriving at a meeting place just a little bit late so that I am not the one left waiting (what a terrible person I am). I would visualise myself (literally) arriving in my destination, meeting my companions and either smashing out a chore or having the best night of our lives- almost to no avail. In fact, there’s always something that occurs that completely derails the entire evening, no matter how menial the distraction was.

The moment I recognised this, or rather admitted to myself its reality, is on one of our final nights in Montréal, when the 11156254_10153281449321886_1879609985174678592_nclique I associated myself with made plans to explore the city in style. We were going to ride bixis around the famous Lachine Canal when, as fate had it, an accident occurred between one of our…um…acquaintances and a local cyclist. Personally, I think that idiot acquaintance of ours was stupid for not seeing the…ahem…moving on.

With some blood, short term memory loss, ambulances and all that gore, the rest of our day was shifted. We ended up being late to a dinner at McKibbin’s, which meant making other people wait for us. Which meant finishing our meals later than planned, which meant we were too late for a screening of the new Avengers…which led to one of our friends being stranded at the cinemas without anyone there with him. Let’s just say that the night ended with me walking out on my own friends in frustration, on some unsettled business like the elephant in the room.

However if none of this had happened, our friendship would have never been tested. And as over-compensating as that sounds, the relationships that I have made were only made stronger by the trials that we have all had to face together.

Now I can declare to myself that things don’t always work out as you want it, nor do stories end as fairy tales do. But that’s life. It’s raw, it’s directionless and as much as we refuse to admit it we can only go with the flow. And although I don’t have a five-year plan like some communist, I just have to learn to make the best of what I’ve got and to grow with the people around me.

Like a certain Mad-Eye(d) Moody once said, “Constant Vigilance!” And that I shall personify.

Exchanging Goodbyes

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I was blessed to end last year and start 2015 by travelling for ‘education’…on student exchange. Over the course of a semester, I commenced the final year of my bachelor’s degree in Montréal, where I was delighted with the balance of North American and Quebecor cultures. As it turned out, the latter was more prominent with French being consistent in even menial things such as street signage and restaurant menus. Being a ‘city boy’ per se, I tried to immerse myself in the French-Canadian culture, attempting to be as fluent as I could be in the language (as unattainable as it was in 4 months), just so I could socialise with its locals “like one of them French [boys]”. Travel took the biggest dent on my bank account, just surpassing food (I like to eat), but also gave back the most. Considering the city’s proximity to the US-Canadian border, both American and Canadian cities were just waiting for me to explore…and that I did.

Travel Map

Probably the biggest challenge during my trip was the climate. Born in humid Manila and growing up in Melbourne with its ever-changing hourly weather, the Canadian winter was harsh and literally chilled to the bone. It wasn’t surprising that I chose to travel during the coldest winter in the history of Montréal. But I’m not ready to see snow again until at least after five years. Yes, it was that traumatic.

I had also promised a lot of things to myself that I would do during this trip like making vlogs, or at least writing more. These promises weren’t fulfilled, though I was given opportunities that I never would have expected to come to me. In anticipation to my return to Melbourne, I will be writing more on what it is exactly that I learned during my experience.