Toronto (2)
By Brooke Wilkinson
Why did you want to leave your home country?
For a better life in a freer country.
Why did you decide to move to Toronto?
Because a family member lived here.
What family members or friends did you leave behind?
The recession and financial crisis have put tremendous pressure on the Canadian job market even for ‘real’ born-and-bred Canadians. Of course, for immigrants, that means ever more pressure to find employment and choosing a career when even during hunky-dory times they faced such scarcity of work — their high educational and professional backgrounds notwithstanding.
If there’s one thing here in Toronto, Ontario which makes toiling through its winters bearable, it’s the arrival of the summer, the season of summer and the return of summer.
Let me say it again if you’re missing the subtle point here: Summers here are what makes the winters bearable. Period.
It is indeed hard to believe, when one looks at the cityscape in summers, that just a few weeks ago, everything was covered deep in snow, ice and all that the winter leaves behind. It is really an experience for someone not used to all this during the better part of his previous life.
Much is being made of the cold weather “alerts”, as they’re called here. These remind me of those almost-Orwellian efficiency ‘campaigns’ at government departments when suddenly saving a bunch of paper-clips becomes top priority just because a ‘green week’ is being celebrated — when it really should be standard practice.
But if braving Canadian winters (as blogged earlier) in a previous suburban neighbourhood seemed a little getting used to
If you ever require a referral to a specialist, you first need to have a family doctor who could refer you to one. Fair enough.
However, I had no idea that getting yourself a family physician in Toronto, Ontario would be a task next to impossible – no, I think I’m being impolite here. Let me rephrase: it is impossible for someone new to get a family doctor here.
The questions often pile high on your mind as you prepare to retire for the day, then lie in your bed staring into nothingness.
You reflect upon what you have accomplished – which is little, and what made you begin this journey in the first place. You reminisce the time when you could conquer the world, when you had the world in the palm of your hand. When you were the stuff stars are made of.
The operators are downright rude, the collectors outright insulting, the communication overtly condescending, the unions with absolute impunity, the bigwigs holding politicians and judges in their back pocket, and the behaviour plain and simple: We don’t need you, you need us for protection. Period. So move along.
