Sharing her personal journey is Caitlyn Moony, who aspires to call Vancouver her permanent residence. For additional insights into CBC’s First Person narratives, refer to the FAQ section.
An ex-beau once sent me a song link by British indie artist Passenger with lyrics like “Only know you love her when you let her go,” hoping to reconcile, but I chose to disregard it. The notion of realizing affection only after separation felt off-putting to me.
Now, I find myself reminiscing about past experiences.
Upon relocating to Vancouver from Johannesburg in 2018, I had meticulously planned my move. My background as a freelance social researcher in South Africa had been gratifying, yet limited career prospects and inadequate compensation prompted concerns about long-term financial security for myself and future care for my parents. Having previously resided in Ukraine, southeast Asia, and the U.K., adapting to new environments was ingrained in me. Additionally, Vancouver, consistently recognized as one of the world’s top livable cities, already housed my sister and her expanding family. I anticipated Canada, with its polite demeanor, including expressions of gratitude and apologies, and an attractive prime minister, to offer a seamless transition.
Even prior to departure, I envisioned engaging in yoga in Kitsilano, navigating the gondola up Grouse Mountain, skiing down the slopes, taking a dip in English Bay, and enjoying cocktails in Yaletown.
Upon reaching Vancouver, I marveled at the city’s stunning landscapes, from the towering North Shore mountains visible even from downtown to the serene rain showers in Pacific Spirit Park. The charm extended to bus drivers pausing for coffee during the morning rush.
Nevertheless, as time passed, I realized my sentiments were not rooted in love. When Vancouver failed to align precisely with my expectations, resentment crept in.
In Vancouver, I lacked connections and the coveted “Canadian experience” sought by most job postings. I settled for an administrative role at a startup, working long hours for meager pay that barely covered the exorbitant basement suite rent where I, standing at five feet four inches, often grazed my head against the low ceiling. Enduring thin walls and disruptive late-night serenades by a neighbor belting out Taylor Swift, exhaustion took its toll.
Feelings of helplessness transformed into disdain. I scoffed at the limited Skytrain routes compared to London’s tube system, and impatience grew towards the laid-back West Coast lifestyle, where simple conversations seemed to drag on endlessly. The pervasive wet dog odor that permeated buses and elevators during Vancouver’s prolonged rainy seasons added to my discontent.
Most significantly, I missed human connection. Having previously been part of tight-knit communities as a teacher, volunteer, or student, the absence of such camaraderie in Vancouver left me feeling isolated. I struggled to integrate and locate social circles.