It was a startling plot twist when Brent found himself enjoying life in Canada. When I began my second year here in September, there was only one other place that I could imagine to be worse than Canada; that proprietor of pride, that great temple to consumerism, the emissary of global domination, and the holy headquarters of Twinkies—America. But now as my time here comes to an end it would seem that the people around me have somehow managed to creep their way into my heart, and I will miss them. I feel like I’ve said far too many goodbyes in my time, and I have, and now I will again. The most difficult part of goodbyes is being willing to say hello again, knowing that it will be closely followed by another goodbye. Slowly good friends will turn from faces into electronic symbols displayed crudely on a computer monitor until correspondence ceases, and I realize that I don’t even know the person I’m emailing anymore. I have been called a critic and a cynic, but there is little romance in farewells and much to dwell on; it is difficult to keep from becoming a victim of experience.
I have always thought that there are three things that are fundamentally wrong with our human existence: death, disease, and farewells. All seem necessary and unavoidable, yet inhuman in essence. In a perfect world or perhaps in heaven there will be none of these—I will look forward to the day.
So this goes out to you my Abbotsford, Chilliwack, Langley, and Vancouver friends.
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!
I will miss you.
So what, ask you, could possibly be next for a nomad such as myself? Two words: Washing-ton. You may have heard of it. I will be going to a very prestigious community college near my parents place in/near Tacoma where I hope to do some gen-ed before hopping on the University wagon. This will be my first time living in America since 7th grade—and I don’t know how I feel about it. But I have a ski pass and skis—life should be good.