After a week of back-breaking strut with the broom, vacuum cleaner, shampooer and every available cleaning gadget to clean-up our apartment, we officially turned-over our home for the last 18 months to our landlord last Monday, August 31.
As we walked away from the apartment, a surprising twinge of sadness clutched my heart. I looked back and surveyed the place for the last time, lingering my gaze in the patio and I recognized the feeling for what it was. We were parting with something that had become so much a part of ourselves.
Our stay in the apartment was rather brief, but it was laden with the best memories that characterized our first year of living as immigrants in this country that welcomed us with open arms. After all, the apartment was our first home in Canada, a silent witness to our early days of struggle and coping. Its bare walls had seen days of extreme emotions in a gamut - from euphoria to excitement to anticipation to frustration to doubt to hope then back to the cycle again.
If it could speak, it would tell a beautiful story that blends courage, hope and faith amidst adversity, uncertainty, and worry. If it could write, it would fashion an amazing narration of events and milestones that would prove that we are exactly in the place where we ought to be.
But like a book whose chapters have ended, we have to close the book and move on. It's time to read a new book.
3 years ago