Home Sweet Where?
There’s a test ex-pats give themselves. It has to do with airports. Quite simply, which country makes you say, I’m home when you land at one of its airports? For a Canadian like me is it Heathrow or Pearson? (Sorry but all Halifax airport ever makes me ask is “What’s with all the kitschy tartan, Ye Fake Scotlande?”)
Perhaps I don’t need a complete and utter spiritual home because at this point I get that relieved, comforting, all is as it should be because I’m back where I belong feeling in Canada and the UK both.
So where would I like my next editor to be based? Hmmm…London but beggars can’t be choosers.
Where do I want a mortgage?Hmmm…will I ever be able to afford London or is this a moot point?
Where would I want to be hosiptalized if I was really sick?…Either OHIP or NHS is fine.
Where would I want to get married?…I’m too middle-aged for a wedding.
Where do I vote?…I only wish I could vote federally in the UK because I find their politics more profound and interesting. Probably almost as much as the average British citizen, I think of the British PM as mine.
Where do I want to volunteer? Anywhere.
Where do I want to donate? I wish.
Where do I want my ashes scattered?…That’s a really maudlin thing to ask. Let’s give that one a rest in peace.
I’ll say this: I’m used to fifty odd souls reading this blog weekly. The last post must have got a few danders up, however, because my readership went exponential four days in a row. I started nervously checking for irate comments. Even hate mail. None so far but I will say this…I would much rather get hate mail from fellow Canadians than stranger Brits. I’d feel less afflicted to know someone in Manitoba furiously disagreed with me than that someone in Northumbria was dead set against all I stood for.
Everything is shakier in a country where you weren’t born and raised. I hope I surmount that because I was raised here for a while. Immeasurably, it helps me settle.
Where do I want to earn a pension? Hmmm….for a change ANYWHERE.