My Arrival in Canada: A Memorable Emotional Rollercoaster

I recently moved from the quiet town of Richmond Hill to Aurora. I had left my school friends behind, as well as the familiar neighborhood I had been living in for around six years now. The move was sudden, announced by my father one day as he gathered us for a family meeting in our living room. I had suspected that something was up, as I had recently noticed the hushed conversations between my mother and father in the kitchen. There was also the fact that he had asked me and my sisters a couple of days earlier if we were alright with leaving our current schools. My father isn’t exactly the best at keeping secrets.

It has been a bit hard for me to adjust. Moving to a new area and attending a new school during my last year of high school wasn’t something I had expected to happen. I have been living in our new house for a month now (we moved in October) and though I miss our old neighborhood, I figured it was time for a change.

What has made me feel better during all of this is the memory of my first move, which was much bigger in comparison to this one. I was reminded of the great impact my family’s move from Algeria to Canada had on my life, as well as the valuable lesson I learned from the experience.

A major part of my childhood was spent in Algeria. I lived there since I was a toddler, all the way to sixth grade. I was a straight A student, well-liked by not only my teachers but my peers as well. I had many close friends, some that I had known since we were preschoolers, still in our diapers. I also participated in school activities and hosted school events and concerts. At home, I shared a room with my sister. We lived in one large house with my grandmother (from my father’s side). We lived on the second floor, while my grandmother inhabited the first. 

During summer holidays, which usually began in May, my father would take us on a road trip to my mother’s side of the family, who reside in the capital, four hours away. I would spend the summer swimming in hot, rocky beaches with cousins, going to amusement parks, or getting snacks from the store five minutes away from my grandmother’s apartment complex. Everything was perfect.

So, when my father declared that he was uprooting our family (minus my grandmother) to Canada, I was surprised, to say the least. My mother and father would often tell me stories about what it was like living there before they moved to Algeria, but I had no recollection of those memories, considering I left the country at the young age of three years old. The news made me devastated; I was going to miss my grandma, family, friends, peers, and last but not least, the place I had spent nearly eight years calling home.

Saying goodbye was difficult. I bid my friends and grandmother farewell, and my grandmother waved and cried as our car, filled with our packed bags, pulled out of the driveway. We drove to Algiers, the capital, where my father was going to prepare our paperwork. We spent that time with my mother’s family. When everything was set, I bid adieu to my aunts, cousins, uncles, and grandmother. We headed to the airport, where we collected our boarding passes, checked in our luggage, went through the security screening, and boarded the plane taking us to France.

Despite my sorrow, I was a bit excited. It was my first time ever being on a plane. I spent the flight watching Disney movies and sipping on my apple juice (jus de pomme was the only drink I knew how to order in French at the time!).

The highlight of the trip, in my opinion, was arriving at the airport in France. Once we landed, we were welcomed by a friendly woman in uniform holding a basket. She handed each of us chocolate and then had a conversation with my parents in French about the flight. The airport was buzzing with noise and brimming with people, suitcases and bags traveling to their owners on baggage carousels, escalators going up and down, and travelers filling the shops. 

We didn’t spend too much time at the French airport before we had to board a second flight to Canada. This flight was much longer than the first (eight hours) and I spent the majority of it sleeping. I was beyond exhausted, as I had to wake up at one o’clock in the morning that day. When we arrived at the Canadian airport, we were picked up by one of my father’s friends. We spent our first few days in Canada at their house before moving into our own apartment. Soon after that was my first day of school. I was nervous, especially with my limited English vocabulary, but my classmates were friendly and made sure I felt welcome. I ended up making new friends at school and I am still close with them to this day.

What I learned from reflecting on this experience is that change, even if intimidating at first, can be a good thing. Moving to Canada has helped me learn and grow—I learned a new language, formed lasting friendships with people from all sorts of different backgrounds, visited new places, and experienced exciting things I never would have been able to experience back in Algeria. Change pushes us out of our comfort zone and helps us evolve and improve. Even though my family’s recent move has been far smaller in scale than our first, my feelings are the same as they were back when I left Algeria. I am learning to embrace the unexpected and learn from it, and I hope others experiencing something similar can do the same.