Cheers

I have heard the phrase "cheers" used here more times than I can possibly count. Cheers for holding the door open, cheers for giving back change from my 5 pound note, cheers for drinking, and cheers for everything in between. But only now has it hit me just how much I have to cheer for.

The past four months has flown by. I remember standing at the gates at YVR and thinking How am I going to do this? The act of moving halfway across the world to a place where I knew no one and had no idea what to expect seemed overwhelmingly daunting. Four months later I'm sitting in my pack up room, luggage scattered about and a bulletin board empty behind me, and I'm thinking, How could I ever not have done this?

I think when we go through the day to day routine at home, in a place of familiarity, we often forget just how wonderful the unfamiliar can be. That feeling of butterflies in your stomach, or of a quickened pulse when you don't know what's going to happen. All of which lead to the satisfaction of turning a street corner and discovering something new.

I am so grateful for the new things this experience has provided me with new friends, new memories, new places and new knowledge. The expectations I had going into this semester were nothing special, I thought I would have some fun and see some cool things, but all those were exceeded.

And now, as the final day here draws to a close I realize there were a lot of lasts.
Last dinner all together, last walk to ASDA, last night out, last time I'll sleep in my bed here. But for what it's worth, as I look back on all those lasts, I'm so glad that four months ago I took a deep breathe, walked on the plane, and took a first.

familiarities

And then there was the time that I got off the train in Leicester and I knew that I had to walk right out of the station instead of left to get to the bus stop. And that because it was a Saturday the 31 bus would only run every half an hour instead of every 10 minutes so I knew I had time to walk down to Green Oasis on London Road to get a coffee before it came. And I knew that the coffee would be 1.20 and that it would come it a beige take-away cup and that I would have to switch hands while holding it because there was never any sleeves left. And I knew to press the stop button for Oadby Village sometime between the school sign that said 'Best A-Levels Results in the East Midlands' and the road that shared the same name of my Dad's hometown in Saskatchewan, otherwise it would be too late and the driver would go right past. And I knew that once I got off the bus at Oadby that it would only take 5 minutes to walk back to my room if I went past the gardens, and 7 minutes if I didn't. And I knew all of this because, somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, it had become like home.

Hockey eh

You don't really realize the importance of hockey as part of the Canadian national identity until you step outside of Canada. Suddenly, the world seems a lot bigger and emptier without the comforting knowledge that Saturday's Hockey Night in Canada is just around the corner. You find yourself wondering what absurd suit Don Cherry is wearing? and what comment will he make that will cause Ron Maclean to cover his face with his hands trying to hold back calling him an idiot? Without the daily update from Dan O'Toole and Jay Onrait you are lost in the world of sports. You have no idea what the TSN turning point of the day was and you can't even begin to guess how the Canucks finished off the third.

Whether you grew up around hockey or not, whether you knew the rules to offside, or when a ref should call slashing or roughing it doesn't really matter. You knew that come May long weekend when the weather started to get nicer there would be a line up of boys on the road curving sticks and dragging hockey nets out of the garage. The sound of chatter and chirping interspersed with the universal call for time out - CAR! Playoffs meant that your Dad would start to sport and unusual amount of facial hair (and complain about it itching the whole time), game 7 meant an undeclared bank holiday and overtime meant you were to follow an undeclared house rule to duck in front of the TV if you had to get up (and it had better be a good reason).

You learned a lot of lessons from watching games too. You learned that its ok for grown men to cry over a loss, that you should stick up for your teammates and that a black eye or a broken jaw didn't mean sit this one out, it means persevere. From hours spent at the rink, either on the ice or in the stands you learned to cheer for a common goal and shake hands no matter the outcome. On the drive home you learned to give praise when deserved and simply say "Next time" when it was not (because there was always a next time). But most of all, you learned that the Canadian national anthem  is sung at the beginning of games not only because of tradition and out of respect, but because hockey is undeniably a part of Canada, and is indelibly painted, just like the blue line on the ice, into the mosaic of this country.