First Train Home

I really was not sure what to do with my weekend. On Friday, I finally started my immigration process with a lawyer. I signed a contract and it all seemed so official. I had tried not to think about all the paper work too much and concentrated on the King Street scene on my way from the lawyers office. All of sudden, it struck me. I had a lapse of complete discouragement. Why was I doing this? What if I had to leave next year? Toronto is so huge, I would never be able to even cover the known spots over the next year. This would be yet another project half started and half done. I actually didn't even care about not finishing. I cared more about not being able to do this a year from now.

I kept taking random street cars, probably subconciously hoping to stumble into a comforting little spot where I could just sit and calm down.

I found myself in Kensington Market, with all of its eccentric little shops. And then I found it. A cute little haven, tucked in a corner of bustling little hippie stores. It's call Hibiscus.

It's so easy to miss. And that's probably why I was so excited to find it. I sat in there and pulled out the 1000 page application form from a manilla envelope that my lawyer gave me and brought myself to go through them over a comforting cup of rice and asparagus soup. The soup itself sounds downright gross but it was warm, hearty and surprising tasty. An hour later, those papers did not look as intimidating or overwhelming and I knew that I would have to come here again. Where else would I find feel-good food and atmopshere for a mere $3.48?

The rest of the weekend was spent trying not to think about Monday, cleaning out my bedroom, pulling out my spring clothes and arranging them to look like a display rack at a vintage clothing store.

And speaking of vintage clothes, I found some cool vintage stores on Queen Street too yesterday. Vintage shopping opened up my eyes to some suprising discoveries:

- Better than vintage clothes were the vintage purses that I went crazy hunting for.

- A lot of the stuff I was drawn to were things that looked a lot like stuff my mother wore in her glory days. I beamed with pride, now certain that my mother was the shiz back in her hay day.

- I like shoulder pads.

- I'm only going to vintage shop from now on. Most of the time. When the mood strikes.

Immigration Status: It has begun.