My casual, nonchalant answer to his high-stakes question offends him. I can feel his accusing eyes burning into me as I take a sip of my Coke. Are they full of envy or plain disgust for my privilege?

BY KHUSHI ARORA

IMAGE BY DAN CRISTIAN PIDURET

“So, have you decided what program you want to do next?” 

It’s 7 p.m. on a Saturday in late December, and I’m sharing a table with one of my third cousins at a Wendy’s in Malton, northeast Mississauga. We barely saw each other back home, let alone talked on the phone. It was only a month before I boarded a plane to Canada that I discovered he had graduated from the same college I was about to start classes in and lived in a rented apartment just next door to a room I had snagged via Kijiji. He still has two and a half years left on his work permit and my one-year program is almost over. He got me a sweater for my birthday; I got him a sweater for Christmas.  

“No. I don’t want to stay here.”  

My casual, nonchalant answer to his high-stakes question offends him. I can feel his accusing eyes burning into me as I take a sip of my Coke. Are they full of envy or plain disgust for my privilege? I can’t tell. What I can tell though, is what his next words will be. 

“Arey? What happened? You can’t just give up and go back to India without a permanent residency!”  

Bullseye. He pulled off the classic, but with a relatively softer landing than most people would allow. I totally get it though. 

“What’s the point when I do not want to stay here?” 

My initial plan was to get away from my nosy-ass brown family in New Delhi, follow up on my spontaneous plans in life without brainstorming ideas to get permission, and of course, start a “white” life here in Toronto. I wanted to gatekeep Harry Styles’s “Matilda” and be a role model for my younger siblings. But all the parts I somewhat ended up loving about my time here trace back to me living on my own, and not in a new country. The grocery aisles at FreshCo are fraught with North Indian ingredients, cars at Westwood blast Karan Aujila on a daily basis, and at least one customer at my high-end retail job greets me with a “Sat Shri Akaal” every week.  

And yet, I never feel like I’m the right shade of brown. I listen to white rappers, find Sally Rooney more relatable than Arundhati Roy, eat frozen Indian food for dinner, love Hindu mythological retellings despite being dubious about God, and want to leave Canada without a PR. It’s almost like a whitewashed slap on my face saying, “This is the life you wanted, huh? Well, guess what? So did 60% of the foreign students in Ontario’s public colleges.” 

“I just hope you find your people there,” my mom had said with hope in her eyes, reassuring me that maybe a newfound independence would finally lift my curtain of loneliness, and I’d blossom into whatever flower people are blossoming into these days on social media (I deleted Instagram; sorry, everyone is so happy there). Reality check: four months into my life here, I was crying in front of my mom on FaceTime, whining about spending New Year’s alone, despite working overtime and having enough money in my pocket. Most people would tell me to treat time with patience. But when you wake up on a lazy afternoon to find your dad hospitalized and just gone the next day, you’d rather trust a fuckboy than trust time. Yeah whatever, time heals everything, but it also damages you out of nowhere to restore the balance.  

I could spend another twenty grand on a second program (hell, no) to become eligible for an extended work permit; work one full-time and another part-time job to pay the tuition; continue to live in a cramped yet affordable apartment with a family of five who do wonders for my social anxiety; and of course, eventually earn CRS points, and get a PR. I could work my ass off and do all of that but, even then, would I want to stay 11,000 kilometers away from my mother, the only person I’m guaranteed to receive love from in this lifetime? Plan a visit at least six months prior just to get a reasonable plane ticket? Sometimes I wish she’d be harder on me just so I could be one of those invincible trauma-bound anime characters driven by hate. I mean, I can’t unlock my sharingans with my mother’s love backing me like that, you know? But seriously, why do they not mention all this in the “X reasons you should study in Canada” list?  

And mind you, this is coming from an international student who, despite not being filthy rich, is in a privileged position when it comes to having options. So many Indians who decide to extend their stay in Canada either follow in the footsteps of their migrant family members or have a household so toxic they’d do anything but go back. A few fortunate ones also opt in to financially support their family from here. I belong to neither of these pools, yet I still feel massive pangs of guilt for choosing to return home so soon. Which is so funny because Desi parents would think a million times before allowing a sleepover, but when it comes to a Canadian green card, y'all better spend as many nights away from home as you can. Oh, how I miss being smothered by my relatives, in the face of living with a bunch of strangers I had traded my freedom for. I tell myself it’s a small price to pay in exchange for an unbridled youth. But has it been worth it? 

For a limited time so far, I’d say yes. The frozen parathas are great, I love the Toronto Public Library, weed is legal, and the city’s a stop on every concert tour (fuck Ticketmaster, though). I have my own apartment keys and I can take a smoke break whenever I want. Even in terms of cultural exposure, some of the most beautiful humans I’ve met here have hyphenated identities. My neighbor is from the Caribbean; three of my friends are Filipinos; two of my managers are cute Punjabi boys born in Canada; an online friend I met here, who is a gem of a person, is Muslim; one of my favorite professors is Black, and the other is disabled. So, when I think about it, Canada has been pretty good to me. But eh. Ain’t no place like home, you know. 

Khushi Arora (she/her) is a full-time student in the Professional Writing and Communications program at Humber College. She holds a bachelor’s degree in English literature and aspires to work in trade publishing for young adult and romance books. Find her talking about books and all things pop-culture at @lonevixenreads

Image: Close-up of Abstract Pattern in Brown Colours; Photo; Dan Cristian Piduret (Pexels)

Edited for publication by Em Fabbri, as part of the Bachelor of Creative and Professional Writing program.

HLR Spotlight is a collaboration between the Faculty of Media & Creative Arts and the Faculty of Liberal Arts & Sciences and Innovative Learning at Humber College in Toronto, Ontario. This project is funded by Humber’s Office of Research & Innovation.