My send off was unceremonious my friends on the island had all but stopped texting, and I could barely keep up with myself come September. I flew across Canada three times, across Europe, to the Caribbean and back twice all in the span of four months. It was an insane schedule and took a toll on all of my relationships. I felt guilty for not being there, I felt even more guilty that I decided to move again. I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone.
My car was full of both my junk and my most prized possessions, my books and my photo gear, my business and all my memories from the last two years. I drove myself squished to the steering wheel to the ferries. I’ve timed my ferry rides with sunset since the moment I arrived in Victoria two years before and this was no exception. It turned from day to night over the hour and a half ride.
It only took a few trips down our skinny ally way, and up the stairs at the back of the house to bring my world indoors. It was a move to the city I’ve talked about, but surprised even myself when I decided to actually do it.
If you told me I would be living here a year ago I wouldn’t have believed you. I was in love with the island but after a week of debating and just a few hours of packing Jacqueline and I (my new roommate and friend from childhood) were sitting together on the scuffed hardwood, wine in hand, pizza on the way. No furniture to speak of but happy to be home. It was July since we had last seen each other, and both of us had been around the world since then. We spoke fast and laughed, catching each other up until my eyelids were heavy with jet lag and my muscles ached from the heavy lifting.
Welcome to the city, surprise, you live here now, and good night.