It rains in Toronto. But lightly. It’s a polite rain and each raindrop seems to say sorry and excuse me and feels embarrassed to exist. Note: Picture taken the next day in the morning commute to work. The rain has friends: wind and cold. Alone each friend is not at its best but together the trio are dynamic and powerful. Buy a raincoat. The rain is also shy. It arrives and hangs around but never long. It’s polite in this way. But the rain still visits. Buy a raincoat. A raincoat that isn’t bulky. That’s packable in it’s own case. And one that’s lightweight.
The TTC in the evening is a good place to write. Less crowded and more noise and people just want to get home. And more laughing. She says:
Ahhahahahh. That’s hilarious. A whole hour. One more hour.
It happens to everyone I presume. It can be sensed by others. The feeling absorbs and distracts. You become self conscious as you struggle through the experience and the unknowns.
The concerned look remains until you’ve unscrambled the puzzle.
This fear is the fear of not knowing your bus stop or knowing which direction your headed and unfamiliar surroundings.
Only last week did I have the same feelings. They’re still quite fresh and I’ve now recognized them in others.
It won’t be long before I experience it all over again and again. Soon I may lose the feeling altogether and that’s what I’m hoping for.
To never feel lost or confused or nervous.
One stop left. Lansdowne here, Dufferin next.
It’s a Sunday morning and I’m headed to the office. I decided this Saturday. Awoke at a reasonable early time and enjoyed the routine. It was a feeling of being unrushed and with no one expecting me in the office I felt no pressure to hurry myself.
It’s the Sunday before the Canadian Thanksgiving. I’ve been in Toronto for a few days beyond a month and have been in the near-downtown condo for a week and a day and I observe no holiday spirit. In the US you can sense that something is happening even being cut off from all media as I’ve been here.
It’s a lazy Sunday with few pedestrians and equally few bus riders and subway goers. A typical weekday is never as sparse. “The next station is Old Mill, Old Mill station” says the invisible voice. “Arriving at Old Mill, Old Mill station” she assures.
Another thirty minutes and the office building should come into sight. Had I not forgotten my TTC card this morning, only to realize my mistake feet away from the stop for the 29 bus, would this morning’s commute not be so extended as it has been.
Future self: Never ever forget your TTC card.