A Treatise on Canada's Importance to Americans

I still do not feel like I am in Toronto.

That being said, I quickly settled in, both physically and emotionally. Sure, my duffel bag will be my dresser for the next two weeks, and FedEx can't seem to get one of my packages out of Washington (is it the one with my more eminently important belongings?!), but I leapt, in a matter of days, from being quietly overwhelmed to casually making grocery lists and laundry runs.

Still, the wonder of calling North America's fourth largest city home--if only for a year--has not been lost on me. After spending the first eighteen years of my life in Washington's most rural county, seeing not one, not two, but countless high-rises outside of my window each morning is astounding. I cannot help but think back to one of my first weekends in Bellingham, when I climbed to the top of the watchtower in the Sehome Hill arboretum with a few of my friends. As we watched the sun set over the city, bay, and mountains, I commented on how unbelievable it was to be there. My friend Brooke, who grew up in Wenatchee, responded that she was used to being surrounded by mountains. I was referring, instead, to my wonder at living somewhere with a skyline.

The view from my breakfast table will be a little tough to get used to.

Not sure if I would have been so impressed by Bellingham's skyline if I moved there from Toronto....

Moving in and urban wonder aside, I want to take a moment to talk about why I have this opportunity in the first place. Most international study/research scholarship programs available to American students exist either to educate Americans about "less developed" nations, or to advance ties between the U.S. and the host country. With Canada as the perennial butt of every foreign relations joke, what good does the Fulbright Canada commission see in funding study and research across the U.S.-Canadian border?

The truth is that many Americans take Canada for granted, and even more Americans are ignorant to Canada's role in the world, and even Canada as a whole. To paraphrase Scotty Greenwood of the Canadian-American Business Council, the U.S.-Canadian border is like a two-way mirror: when Canadians look at the U.S., they see the U.S. When Americans look at Canada, they see themselves. The former Prime Minister of Canada, Pierre Trudeau (the current Prime Minister's father) said of the relationship, "Living next to [the U.S.] is... like sleeping with an elephant. No matter how friendly and even-tempered is the beast... one is affected by every twitch and grunt."

In other words, Canadians cannot help but acknowledge and at least attempt to understand the United States: we're their only neighbor, their largest (by far) trading partner, and the world's leading power. Canada is heavily influenced by America's economy, culture, and politics. Many Americans, on the other hand, can live and die without ever knowing a Canadian Prime Minister's name (or, for that matter, learn that Canada's leader is called a prime minister).

This attitude became clear to me when I accepted admission to the University of Toronto. Like every college senior, I spent the year fielding questions about my post-graduate plans. At least nine out of ten times that I said I would be attending the University of Toronto, the response was something along the lines of, "Oh, are you Canadian?" Sometimes I would omit the fact that I won a Fulbright scholarship, just so that I could explain my choice on the merits of U of T rather than on the money I was offered. "It consistently ranks in the world's top-twenty schools for Economics," I would say, "and Toronto is amazing."

Americans should learn more about Canada. Canada is one of our closest allies and our largest trading partner; we share the world's longest bi-national land border; and Canada is a leader in civil rights, having federally legalized same-sex marriage nine years before we did. Many celebrities and artists that are well-known and -loved in the United States are Canadian: Ryan Reynolds, Celine Dion, Alice Munro, Jim Carrey, Mike Myers, and Michael J. Fox, just to name a few. Just Google "Canadian celebrities", and you'll find countless names and faces that are well-known to you. I was recently surprised to find that Simple Plan, a band that was integral to the release (exacerbation?) of my pre-teen angst, is from Montreal.

The Fulbright-Canada Commission was founded 25 years ago with this relationship in mind. Private donors and both governments see this program as a worthy investment because it pays to have people like me talking to other Americans about Canada without the slightest hint of irony, misunderstanding, or dismissal. I'm more than happy to take the offer. After all, the U of T is fantastic... and Toronto is amazing.

What's Being Left Behind

This entry will be much shorter than I want it to be. Following the trend of my overall move-out experience, this reflection will be shorter, less sentimental, more rushed, and generally more unconventional than I imagined it would be.

This blog is a medium for me to share my experiences in Toronto during my Fulbright year. However, in my introductory post, I want to provide context for what's to come with what's being left behind.

I'm currently sitting on the floor of the SeaTac Airport, waiting in line at my gate. Two days ago, I awoke at 7:00 AM in Bellingham after four hours of sleep with my mind shrouded as it could only be after the last night in one's "college town". Two hours later, I hit the road in a comically-packed 2002 Kia hatchback an hour after I had planned to leave. I always expected my last departure from Bellingham to be teary, sentimental, and ponderous. The truth is, it felt casual, I still do not feel as though I left.  I expected to cry during my goodbyes, but I never did.

During my final week in Bellingham, I was surrounded by my closest friends, some who I have known for my entire time at Western Washington University. We laughed, we stayed up late, and we reminisced. I never considered Bellingham merely my college town, and I never referred to Republic, where I grew up, or Yakima, where my parents have lived for the last four years, as home. Before a holiday break, I would tell others that I was seeing my parents for the holidays.

Bellingham hurts to leave behind because I became myself during my time there. Bellingham was my home, and Western was my identity. It is difficult to fully explain what it is like to grow up in a true small town to those who have never experienced it: to have your identity prescribed to you at birth, to carry the legacy of seven siblings on your shoulders when a teacher or doctor hears your last name.

Coming to college at Western was the first time I had the opportunity to define myself on my own terms. Stepping foot on Western's campus three years and eleven months ago was my introduction to life as an individual. Over the course of 59 months, I built a life as a Western student, a Bellinghamster, an RA, a tutor, an Honors student, a guy at the bar who plays darts even when he doesn't order a drink. I began to feel comfortable in those roles, and took for granted (even feared) the familiarity that came with living in a "college town".

So I'm leaving it behind. I'm choosing not to come back to Washington for my whole Fulbright year, even for holidays. I want to experience Toronto, experience Canada and the U of T in the best way that I can. I adore the people I met, and especially those whom I've seen in my last week. I hope to never take them for granted. Maybe they'll even give me the opportunity to cry.