The universe wants me to know I made the right choices.
As I touched down at Vancouver airport, the first notification on my phone showed a heavy rainfall warning. It’s called “The Pineapple Express”, said the locals, but generally, November is the rainiest month of the year. My friend said, gleefully, “You put on a raincoat and rainboot and umbrella and you get over it”. “Sometimes, the rain can be calming and comforting”. And I said “Congratulations on finding your place. I’d rather take the snow”.
It is important for one to find a place that suits them. To each their own. Otto Fong (a Singapore LGBTQ teacher who was fired for being gay), wrote: “I don’t want to be a bonsai tree… Do you know what a bonsai tree is? A bonsai tree is an imitation of a real tree. It is kept in a small pot with limited nutrients, trimmed constantly to fit someone else’s whim. It looks like a real tree, except it can’t do many things a real tree can…. [It’s] useless and painful.” I have moved to many places in my lifetime. And I have moved to Canada with the hope for an authentic reality and a life of extraordinary. I found it in Canada. I didn’t feel like that anymore in Calgary. I do love Calgary. I do deeply love the mountains and the rivers, and even the snowfall. I do love the big open sky and the big open spaces and the big open parks with trees and birds and deers. It’s the people living in it that keep making me feel like I didn’t belong.
Not that I’ve ever contemplated living in Vancouver. 2021 was a landmark year as I struggled to find a role that suited me and my experience in Calgary. And I contemplated moving to GTA for an opportunity that was much better for me. As I lie on the IKEA couch of my friend, my back aching and my neck asking “What the actual f is going on?”, I know that I have gotten older. I am proud to have moved from Vietnam to Singapore on a one-way ticket and 2 suitcases. I have arrived in Philadelphia in January with 2 suitcases and a box from my uncle. I arrived in snowy Canada with 2 suitcases and some help from my uncle and my ex. I did it, and I can do it again. I don’t know if I can do it alone anymore.
Loneliness is a persistent pandemic. In a big city like this, there are many many more people in diverse communities. There are many more people in the LGBTQ community. Yet, as the number of people that are so beautiful on the outside, that has six-pack abs and dance routines on their Instagram, that has followers virtually, there is this deep-rooted isolation and sadness. I caught up with a friend after 6 years and I sensed that in him. He was looking for friends and connections in a city that is about working your life off (to afford the rent) and the rain and the beautiful exteriors keeping people away from each other. People constantly cancel appointments because they know more exciting and better things might come along, and they ended up alone on their couches at night scrolling through Instagram. I couldn’t help but wonder, when the Covid pandemic is over, and then the North America society arrives at distributed workforce and fully virtual “Metaverses”, what is there for our lives in terms of connection? Do we trade off our humanity for mobility?
I thought about it a lot in my last 4 weeks. As I resign from the company that embraced me through the pandemic, that embraced me through change and that saw my experience and potential beyond a job title or the Oil and Gas industry that I used to work in, leaving all the people I worked with and even hired behind, I couldn’t help but wonder, is this the right move? I know it is. Growth and comfort do not co-exist. And I know myself. This type of anxiety and fear is what drives me forward.
Yet, as I spent my time in Ottawa, and as I contemplated the thought of living there and working remotely for my next job, I could see myself there. I could see myself being challenged and growing for a few years before moving back. I could see myself adopting and loving a new place with new people and new culture and new hiking trails. But I can’t see myself in a minimalistic apartment with IKEA furniture anymore. I see my life with somebody. I want to always spend my life with that somebody. And I somehow begin to question if he ever wants to give up his comfort for growth, or even more unfairly, if he ever will give up his comfort for my growth.
“Marriage is work,” my friend said “and it seems [his partner] is not willing to put in the work anymore”
It can be comforting to be around old friends who agree with you politically, philosophically, and even just the random ridiculousness of life. It made me realize how incredibly lonely I was (and they were) during the pandemic. It made me realize how much I needed someone who listens and who feels the same way. But it also made me realize how incredibly lonely it must be for him when I keep moving forward in the pandemic, exploring places and foreign worlds, while he wants to be comforted, to stay put, and to be agreed with that the people he works with are good people.
I hate the rain. It makes me moody. It reminds me of the childhood I had in Vietnam, of the closeted years I endured in Singapore. Most of all, I guess, the rain forced me to sit with myself and reflect and write all these deep thoughts about my life, and about my personal struggle. I am relentless and uncompromising on what I want out of my life. I am relentless and uncompromising in my authenticity and my growth.
But what if my deep desire for growth and change is now conflicting with my unrelenting love for the person who prefers deep roots and the familiar Calgarian conservative mindset?
Life is like rain. It is unpredictable. It comes at you unannounced and you can’t change it. You just put on the raincoat and an umbrella and you walk out in the rain.
Maybe my next growth is not with moving to a place, but with the discomfort that you sometimes give up personal ridiculous moving-across-the-country #pureadventures for others whom you love who might want a different vision.
“Oh, the stupid things people do for love” – a co-worker
Pace Fine Arts 