Just NB

The concept of “home” is a funny thing. There are all kinds of cheesey phrases, “Home is where the heart is”, “Home is where your story begins”… you know them all. Right now, I struggle to define home. Home is a condo in one of the towns named after a Saint in Quebec (of which there are thousands) where I live with my…inherited dog (that I am embarrassed to admit how much I love). Home is a messy, noisy, funny, condo with two girls that I love to the end of earth but don’t always know how to deal with, a husband that I see 25% of the time, and that same dog. Home is a chair at a desk in a big building in the biggest city that I have, or ever will (I think) live in. I spend 75% of my time there, it holds my only friends in Quebec, and it’s where I have the most social interaction. Home is my signature on a mortgage on a condo in Edmonton, of which I never plan or intend to live in, ever, just touch down for a visit from time to time. Home is the baseme...

Could it be that I’m turning into a Montreal girl? Now, there’s something to be said for being on a road with minimal traffic listing to Rascal Flatts (yes, I’m serious), but my days here don’t seem to be so foreign anymore. Sure I notice that not many people look like me, I have an accent different to anyone else, I still have my “I hate Quebec” moments (I’m pretty sure Quebecers have, “I hate Quebec” moments), but…my days are almost starting to feel….normal. This morning I was dead tired, but I got up, did my hairz and fancy makeup, wore my fancy jeans (it’s jeans day to support xyz cause), got on the train, even freaking brought an umbrella (I walk 1.5km from the train station to work and it’s raining) and picked up a coffee on my way to the office. None of it felt weird. There are a few points on my route to work that are even habitual: 1.        Saying hello to the guy that hands out the free newspaper. There are 2 free newspapers in ...