Enrique's Writings

The concept of summer was new to me. When we arrived in Canada, winter was the true shock. In my homeland, summer seemed to stretch across the whole year, warm and familiar, like a song I had always known. It took me a few years to understand why Canadians waited for summer with such longing, why those brief months felt almost sacred. Summer here is a season of festivals, celebrations, barbecues, gardening, civic gatherings, and long afternoons spent outdoors. It is a time to bathe in wild waters, in lakes and rivers, and to travel across this vast country. Road trips become a national pastime. The days are long, the evenings gentle and warm, and Canadians seem to spend the whole year dreaming of these few golden months. The mother of a friend visiting from Ghana once described the Canadian seasons better than anyone I had ever heard. When someone asked what impressed her most about Canada, she answered, “Well, it is cold, that is for sure.” Then she added, “Autumn is colourful: everyo...

Starting a new life in Canada brought one challenge after another, and transportation soon became one of the hardest. Public transit was expensive, and I was living on social assistance. With so little income, I needed to find work. As a government-sponsored refugee, I had spent most of my first-year learning English. I was far from fluent, yet I knew enough to begin looking for an entry-level job. Beneath that practical search was a deeper need: I wanted to prove to myself that I could build a life in my newly adopted land. In March of the following year, I began to look for a job in earnest. I was willing to do almost any kind of work, but I carried one hope with me: if possible, I wanted to serve in the nonprofit sector and help people in need. That hope led me to my first job, working overnight at a women’s shelter run by the Salvation Army. The shelter was near the Junction in Toronto’s west end, relatively close to the rooming house where I lived. Finding the job gave me a sense ...