In light of what we have recently seen happen around the world, in my opinion, the best thing about Canada is its diversity, embrace of pluralism, and acceptance of others. The following story I wrote a few months ago is a reflection of these collective Canadian values and those which I hope to see continue for many generations to come.
Tiny blue droplets of tears slowly rolled down my cheek as my left foot moved forward onto the platform of the old, rusted train. I pressed my face against the foggy window, taking a good look at my surroundings. This may be the last time I would be seeing the town of Homs, Syria. The place I was born and the place I took my first steps. Memories of the past twelve years of my childhood were all flooding my mind like a thunderstorm. For a moment, I wished the entire world would freeze, I just wanted to stand here staring at my home city forever. Then again, what was the use? Every building had been burnt to rubbles and some of my best friends had been blown to pieces.
I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder, “Keep moving, Layla,” mother coaxed. And, before I knew it, there was a quick plunge and the train started to move. Soon enough, my hometown became a tiny speck in the distance.
All around me, everyone was caught up in the joy and delight of their so-called new countries – some going to America, others to Australia. And many of them were like us, taking a train to Lebanon and then a plane to a strange place called Canada. Even mother, father and my younger sister, Mreym, were absorbed in this wave of glee.
I was alone. I wanted to stay in Homs. I wanted to wait until the war was over and then continue life as it was before, but father said that would be impossible. I wanted to go to school, do well and become a doctor. I wanted to help people in my home country, save lives and even become a female hero. In Canada, I would never be able to do that. It would be hard enough to learn a new language, make new friends and live in a new neighbourhood, yet alone become a female hero.
Over the next day, mother and father were much too busy to notice Mreym or I. Everywhere we went, they had to fill out forms and talk to officers dressed in very professional outfits. I, on the other hand, spent the entire time in my own self-assuming presence and misery. My gloomy, murky mood caused me to stay in a cloud of darkness, not talking to anyone and not observing all the occurrences around me.
The only one thing that really resonated with me was the sympathy and kindness everywhere. Kind people escorted us everywhere we went. I wondered, was this what it was like in Canada?
It reminded me of home before the war started, how everyone had shared everything and we all got along. Those memories were savoured in my mouth like a red cherry sucker. For the last couple of years during the war, no one had been like that. Everyone just cared about themselves and it seemed everyone had become enemies.
“Layla, wake up, we have arrived,” a silky voice tamely muttered. “It’s time to get up now, we have much to do!” the voice continued, now in a much stronger tone.
“Mother, please give me a few more minutes. You complete the chores yourself and then I will wake up and walk to school,” I groggily moaned. But then, as I calmly opened my eyes, I realized that there were no chores to be done and no school for me to go to. I wasn’t in Homs anymore. I was on an airplane. Now, mother was waking me because we had finally arrived in Canada.
A rush of emotions quickly coursed through my body. We were at our ultimate destination – Calgary. The place everyone had been talking about for so long. I had never wanted to come here in the first place, but deep down inside, I had surprised myself with an eagerness for this new place. There was a slight twinge of excitement inside me because I wanted to see – with my own eyes – this apparent paradise.
The four of us strutted in complete silence down the tunnel from the plane to the airport, none of us quite knowing what we were going to see on the other side. Then suddenly just as we were entering the terminal, a glaring bright light started blazing in my direction. Golden rays of sunshine flooded my face with brightness. For the first time in days, I was seeing light instead of darkness.
But then as I raised my eyelids, I saw a mob. There were people surrounding the airport terminal on every side of us like they were cornering us. They were all carrying large red and white flags with a design that looked like a leaf. I immediately started to panic. I started shivering, my body started trembling, and my teeth started clattering. Back home in Syria, the way we got the signal an attack was going to begin was by people holding their flags high and proud in the air, just like the mob of people in front of me were doing right now. I thought we had fled Syria from war to peace, not come to another war. Were these people going to capture us, were they going to kidnap us, were they going to kill us?
In my moment of terror the only thing I could think of doing was to run. It was just my natural instinct. Anytime I had seen a horrid sight in Syria, I would dash as fast as lighting away from the danger and back to our home. So, that is exactly what I did, I sprinted as fast as I could across the airport terminal.
All around me, I could feel air blowing in my direction. I thought I could even hear the thumping tread of people whisking to follow me. “Layla, Layla, come back,” I heard mother scream. But, I didn’t stop. I was focused on getting as far away as possible from these people. How I wished my family would also follow me so we could be safe together.
So caught up in my own thoughts, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was running. Thump. I had just bumped into something, and it was blocking my path to get any further.
Alarmed, I stopped in my footsteps. It was a young girl about the same age as me, standing right there in front of me. She was wearing a pink frilly dress with black flats and looked so cheerful. Her soft, wavy hair bounced along her sweet face which had a small, genuine smile. But what I didn’t notice for a few seconds was that she too was holding one of those red and white leaf-flags.
Oh, no, I hadn’t escaped from those people, I had just found more of them. There’s no use now, I thought. Even with my fast-as-a-cheetah running skills, this girl was standing in my only path. There was no way I would be able to get away from her. I may as well just let her do what she wants. She would call her people and they would take me away and kill me. But, before I could get any further into my thoughts of what was going to happen to me, a luscious, fluffy voice rang out loud.
“Welcome to Canada,” that voice rang.
For a second, I had trouble believing that musical voice that uttered such gentle words was actually coming from the girl standing before me, holding a flag. But there was no doubt about it, she was the only one around and the expression on her face just showed unconditional love and friendship.
It was those three words that had changed my entire perspective on this new country. It was those three words that had made me realize – these people didn’t want to fight us, instead they wanted to welcome us. It was those three words that brought back my feeling of hope. That told me everything was going to be ok. It was those three words that said Canada is an incredible country that was going to wholeheartedly accept us, help us build an amazing future and achieve our dreams. Those three words promised that my dream of becoming a doctor would be fulfilled, right here in Canada.
Three simple words. Welcome to Canada.