Yesterday, 25th February, marked my twenty-fifth anniversary of moving to Canada. I didn’t celebrate, in fact, it was only when I was preparing for bed that I realised the date. However, it did get me thinking about how my life has changed in the last quarter of a century.
After working customer service jobs, in England, for nearly ten years, first in a bank, and then later at British Airways, I was tired of dealing with the general public. People, individually, are great, the general public, on the other hand, can be rude, obnoxious, and difficult. So, by the time I moved here I had become a malcontent.
I needed a fresh start and I got one in Vancouver. I didn’t stay there. Within a few years I had moved to Kelowna, in the interior of British Columbia, with my new boyfriend. Then as a young married couple we moved to Northern Alberta.
I won’t bore you with the details, but my personal journey in Canada has been one where I got married, and had two children, and became a Canadian citizen. We also purchased a modest house that makes a wonderful home.
I started the proceedings to emigrate in 1987 but, due to red tape, couldn’t actually move here until 1989. In those two years I was amazed at how many people, some I hardly knew, would walk up to me and tell me all the reasons I couldn’t possibly move to Canada on my own. What was the biggest reason? It was scary to them. How could I possibly do something that was so terrifying? But for me it wasn’t frightening at all. It was and still is a fantastic journey. I love the life I have here. The last twenty-five years have flown by and I’m looking forward to the next twenty-five.
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I'm currently writing a novella which will be included in a multi-author boxed set, due to be published in February 2019