Just a Pawn
Illustration by Jena Williams
Sometimes, I feel like I am watching my life unfold from a bird's eye view. I feel removed, like I am lucid dreaming and watching my choices in a third-person perspective. The lack of stability I experienced in childhood felt similar to a game of snakes and ladders. External parties were constantly determining whether I moved forward or backward. I have attended seven different schools in five different cities, and if there is one thing I am proud of, it is that I can adapt to new environments. I have been living in Europe for a semester, and my body has finally had the time to digest just how much of an impact my lack of stability has had on my past twenty years.
As an adult who has consciously decided to country-hop for four months straight, I now recognize how numbed I have become to what most would deem uncomfortable environments. Throughout my childhood, I was a pawn, I didn’t have the maturity or the means to make real decisions, so my parents made their best plays to give me the most fruitful life. I am thankful to have had the opportunities that we did, but as I traveling to all these new countries, I realize how much I long for consistency.
As a tourist, I have been prodded with the query, “Where is home?” far too many times. I often respond vaguely, saying, “I am from Canada,” which, if I’m unlucky, probes me, “Where in Canada?” I give an ominous response of - everywhere. People think this answer is me being coy, but honestly, it is the only answer I can provide truthfully. My individuality cannot be defined by one place or home; I am a compilation of all the places I have lived. I am a British Columbian who never learned how to ski, an Ontarian who didn’t know what the GTA stood for, and a Nova Scotian who refuses to eat lobster.
I think about how trees can have roots that run twenty meters deep. If I were a plant, I think I would be a water lily, a nymphaea, a living, breathing organism that no one knows whether it is a plant or a flower. I could never plant roots as I knew it would result in having the ground ripped out from under me. My life has been a compilation of expiration dates; in six months, we will move across the country, and in a year, I will switch to a new middle school and then after that I will go to a high school in another district. The longest friendships I have maintained are with the voices in my head that tell me I don’t belong, I’m too loud, and that my presence is temporary. Returning to a place where you once built a foundation is a sickening feeling. The anxiety of walking into a home that once held all your memories and seeing a new family building a life in the walls that you called home. Returning to a game where I once knew all the rules to find that the team has been redrafted.
I am ready to build my own home, but first I need to heal my growing pains. I want to put down roots, and if there comes a time for me to move again, I know I can persevere, but I am so so tired of feeling like a water lily. I want to be a pine tree. I want to grow old, and when the time comes, I want people who will celebrate me. I want my current group of friends to last forever. I want to endure and acknowledge all the heartaches I have spent my life running from. I want to build a home for myself.
