My mother always told me that the sky is the most beautiful thing we look at, but never truly see. We lived in a large city where the sky was more of an afterthought. But my mother grew up on a cocoa farm, where the world above was part of the life there, as necessary as breathing or eating.
When my father told us that because of his job, we'd be promptly moving from our home in Salvador, Brazil to Toronto, Canada, he naturally argued his point using what my mother loved.
“Just think, caro, I hear the sky is so vast, stars light up the sky, and the colours are always changing” my father would argue, trying to get my mother to see the bright side of this situation.
“You know I do not worry about that, Gabriel. It is the people. We will stick out like sore thumbs” she would then wait a moment and gesture towards me “Julia and I barely speak English, how are we supposed to go to another country, to a place that will be our home, and not even understand what people are trying to say to us.”
Conversations like these would go on for hours, my father, trying to reason with my mother, and vice versa. To me, Canada had always been a place I knew about, but never really thought about. I was intrigued by this place that we would soon call home, but scared too. What about the cold! I've heard bad things about the weather. And what about what my mother had said, we would stick out like sore thumbs. It wouldn't take long for people to realize that I didn't belong. I wouldn't fit in this place, I'd be like a piece for the wrong puzzle, trying desperately hard to fit in, but never fully succeeding.
Like my mother, I fought long and hard trying to get my father to understand; didn't he see what a horrible decision this was? But, despite my best efforts, we ultimately moved. At first, it was hard. As it always is, but I got used to it, and something even more shocking happened. I wasn't alone. It seemed every kid I met had a different background, a different history. We all seemed to fit in, because none of us did. I was in a place where being different was normal, and I loved it.
A couple months after we arrived, my father took us for a drive out of the city, far away from the artificial lights. We gazed at the sun as it was setting. The stars were just starting to shine, and the sky was at that beautiful in-between place. All the different elements combined, from the hazy oranges, to bright yellows, from the bright booming sun, to the small stars. Every individual piece was unique, creating a beautiful picture. This was Canada, where the different are recognized as beautiful, and together, we make something wonderful.
Adele Beaudoin is a Grade 10 student at Innisfail High School. Her short story,
