Belonging

Four hundred and eighty days ago, my thoughts on Halifax.

Four hundred and eighty days ago I sat on top of Citadel Hill listening to Counting Crows, my favourite musical group at the time. Blake and I relaxed there on the lush grass and gazed out at a foreign and fascinating city. Throughout that short trip I remember marching around the quiet streets of Nova Scotia's capital, having my first experience with biscuits and molasses, visiting the Museum of Immigration at Pier 21, and sauntering along the boardwalk at the picturesque waterfront. During that vacation, my mind was fixed on the 5-week French immersion program that lay ahead of me, and I was completely oblivious to the fact that in about 15 months I would be back in this city, and not just for another short visit. Little did I know...

Yesterday I arose earlier than my habitual weekend routine to go meet Jesse and Emma at the infamous Halifax farmers' market. Not only was I anxious to see my Trois-Pistoles friends, but also I was looking forward to chatting with someone who knows Halifax to some degree more than my friends living in residence. After visiting both the new farmers' market on the harbour front, and the historic farmers' market located in the building of an old brewery, I felt a great deal more in tune to the Halifax ways of life. Jesse was a great person to wander the markets with because his network within the farming community was vast. It was nearly impossible to walk more than a few meters without sparking a conversation with the next vendor. I've always heard that East-Coasters are some of the friendliest people out there; yesterday proved that to be true. My purchases of the day were limited to a pint of cherry tomatoes and three fresh carrots, but let me tell you, hitting up the farmers market with a wallet full of cash may not be the best idea. Local paintings, jewellery, knitting, ethnic food vendors, Christmas decorations, clothing, photographs... there is no absence of creativity and brilliance within the four walls of that Seaport building.

Later that day, after meeting some friends for a sushi date (and thoroughly enjoying the break from cafeteria food), I found myself reunited with that very place I sat four hundred and eighty days prior. I couldn't be certain because of the density of the fog covering Halifax, but my instincts told me it was the spot. So although the fog prevented any view of the city like I had enjoyed a year before, the moment reminded me very much of sitting there with Blake, listening to Counting Crows, weaving red and white bracelets. This time; however, I was not sitting there with my little brother, the sun was not shining upon our backs, but most importantly the city is no longer a foreign place to me. As I relaxed there on Citadel Hill, I felt this amazing and indescribable sense of belonging... like somehow along the course of my life I made the right decision; I am supposed to be in Halifax.