In the Autumn of 2022, I studied abroad at the Université de Montréal in the Quebec province of Canada. It seems that only in retrospect, now one year since the occasion, do I see the value and impact this trip had made on my maturity and on my life. You could say that I had been long awaiting this experience—a couple of initial rejections from the Fulbright program and the onset of a global health crisis; but these are just some of life’s trying trials and tribulations. I was lucky that it all came together in the end.

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            This wasn’t a “cookie-cutter” study abroad experience; I don’t think so at least. I was living alone in a small studio apartment, taking classes in immunology and functions of the nervous system with medical school students who had (at that point, in their second or third years) already made their “new friends”. It wasn’t difficult to keep up with the academic material; I cherished everything learned from the first day, on. With the expectations of doing well in my classes (through a foreign language) being exactly as high as those set for the students to whom French was mother-tongue, I put in diligent hours to adapt to my circumstances.

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            I suppose it was all the walking that made me feel out-of-place at first. I walked one hour and 20 minutes to-and-from my university every single day. Each day I took a different route, be it in the rain, or shine, or snow; infallibly, I walked. I walked because I needed a reason to wake up when the croissant shops opened. I heard about the delicacy of the early croissants from many a French romantic and so, accordingly, every morning I had their buttery goodness on my fingers with a cappuccino in hand. As for the way back, well, I had seen the city by morning and now it was time to see it by afternoon. Come December, I knew every alleyway, side street and “terrasse” of Montréal by sunrise, under moonlight, in autumn colors and dressed up in Christmas lights.

 

          Nevertheless, I became a sort of “permanent watcher”. The Montrealais know how to live; they know how to enjoy their time off. Rather than this joy being infectious to me, I was becoming sick with the unusual melancholy of seeing everything for only seconds as I passed. I was there, but I was not a part of it.

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            Autumn came and my classes were going well. At the University of Montreal, the larger lecture halls are taught by 5-8 professors over the course of each semester. It is because they welcome a new lecturer (who is an expert in that sliver of the subject) with each new unit. I felt so happy in school. The university allocates these “free rooms” to students of each micro-department. They are rooms that the kids convert into thematic coffee houses grounded in the subjects they are studying. In the medical school for example, they had one called Le macrophage. In this respect, I was enjoying academia here more than I had ever profited from it anywhere.

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            The backdrop to October and November was furthermore, the longest and most romantic Autumn I ever knew. The leaves changed in order—red first, then the orange; in early December the entire city was still shivering in yellow and gold. The leaves were steadfast too; there were signs of fall after even the seventh or eighth snow. Yet unchangeably, I felt lonely in November. I began volunteering with the Royal Victoria Hospital at the far end of the city. I joined a group of runners with the will-power of steel which never turned down a run, no matter the conditions of cold. I joined a salsa dance troupe too, but just until the days before I turned 23 I  was still secretly wanting to go home.

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            Some days before my birthday however, I happened to meet a person with an excellent sense of humor and for him I developed a loyal crush. I would not have mentioned this in recounting my study abroad experiences, but this sentiment, the occasion of meeting this person, was important to my time in Canada. Once I understood my feelings for him, I smiled so often and the “exercise-highs” that accompanied my morning runs with the robot people suddenly became more substantial and pleasurable. Then, by a casual observation made by my good friend over a long-distance phone call in November, I diagnosed the condition. She said: “No wonder, it is that you finally feel human again, something feels warm in your life.”

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            You see, theretofore, my flaw had been that of expecting to be “from Montréal” the very moment I set foot in the city. Hearing this comment, it occurred to me: I have been paying my dues in building a new life for myself, in a new place. One has to put down financial grounds and frustration. One has to break a sweat in laying the foundations of the home in which one future day they might light the fire for an event that warms the interior with the warm commotion of friends. At this point (November 15th), I was to stay in Canada for barely one month more. One particularly cold day, I looked around Rue Ontario while walking to my dance class and felt (already then) prematurely homesick. I made a home for myself, and now I had to leave it. I did not only learn academically during my time studying abroad, but I also learned a little something about how to live life going forward.

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            I believe that my adaptation to life as a student in Canada required just one affectionate relationship for a slew of others to follow. In the ultimate three weeks, I realized just how friendly and artsy the students were at my school. Mostly foreigners, they brought quirks from their French-speaking countries of origin to campus. I had been taking one class,—the impact of which I will never forget—a survey of public art in the neighborhoods of Montréal, in which we travelled as a small group to venues around the city with the professor. This class was full of supportive “art kids” who asked good questions and truly wanted to know more about me. I only wish that I’d realized this sooner, because in those last three weeks all my best friendships were made.

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            I remember the map of Montréal very well, and I recall its ambiance fondly. One year since then, and I can’t get the idea and uniqueness of such a “socially-healthy” city out of my mind. I think back to my campus, my friends, the Canadian Thanksgiving, the French-Portuguese-Italian Christmas, the icy streets, and pungently-aromatic fir trees for sale; the excellent croissants, healthy supermarkets, and evergreen terrasses, all with a sentiment of gratitude and great luck for having been welcomed in this city. Nowadays, I am considering my applications for medical school to French Canada. I have learned that it takes time to learn admiration of a new place. This city enriched my sense of  “joie de vivre” as they say, and I carry it with me thereafter.