Picture me, a cake box on my open left palm, my right hand clutching three strings attached to three large balloons threatening to fly away at any moment in the cold breeze.
I can’t remember a bedtime routine that didn’t include a quick check on the date and a promise that yes, one day it would be October 12.
Feng shrugs as if he is privy to top-secret information, like the People’s Republic of China plan to invade Canada using the MERBALP method—Massive Exports of Red Beans and Lotus Paste.
Locked Up Abroad, Science Vs, Ear Hustle and Transfer (in French)—four podcasts you should listen to this fall.
Leaving, travelling, immigrating to Canada—these were all my choices. Choices I’m proud of because they were mine but also choices that affected those around me, and I have to live with this.
A few years ago, I read a post from an American expat who explained how much she missed pumpkins.
“Pumpkins?” I thought. “Okay… Huh, why?”
Ottawa’s 12th homicide of the year occurred on September 20 at 3:20 p.m. on Caldwell Avenue, 800 metres from where we live.
It’s like being 16 again and expecting a text or a phone call from a crush—except I’m 34 and I’m waiting for work assignments.
We were anxiously waiting for the “fridge guys,” aka the repairmen who were about to assess the dead freezer compartment.
Maybe Canada is your dream too. Just make sure you know what you really want.
The sun was shining, the sky was blue and the squirrels were squirrelling around. The birds may have been singing too but I wouldn’t have heard them because Mark was watching TV.
So, what did I buy in France this year?
Tropical storm Harvey made a landing in Ottawa yesterday, right before Labour Day.
“If my bag is searched, expect delays. I took the LEGO boat and car and the diabolo.”
Mood? Confused, as it usually is before a transition. It’s time for us to go back to Canada.
France is sobering up after two months where the country was unofficially on pause.
When you walk around the city a lot, you overhear conversations… including these puzzling, awkward and cringe-worthy moments!
French may hold a cigarette or an umbrella when strolling the streets but they seat down to eat or drink.
Even when I had both free time and freedom—basically between 12 and 18 years old—I rarely ventured outside the city centre.
I kind of like the French philosophy, a mix of hedonism and fatalism. People are aware of terrorist threats but they carry on.
On a sunny evening like this, the touristic, hipster atmosphere didn’t annoy me. I didn’t care. I wanted to have fun as well.
We got off at Penhoët, a destination so unusual that the train barely stopped and we had to ask the driver to keep the doors open a bit longer.
We had promised Mark a medieval castle, but the first sight of interest we noticed was a statue of a butt-naked woman.
Did you know you can buy half a baguette? That kissing is a minefield? That “bourge” is an offensive term?