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.
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.
Prior to Montréal, I’d been able to pass off my travels with languages that I had known for life; English and Tagalog. My initial thought before leaving Australia: Pffftt! Everyone speaks English. I only really need French if I wanted to impress locals. Though that was mostly the case, it wasn’t always. For some reason, I was the only one out of the people I knew who had come across Quebecor locals incapable of speaking English, and I’ve had to play the whole grunt and point routine.