Landing

Finding your way in a new place...

April 19, 2018. The thirteen hour flight was coming to an end.

I usually sleep on airplanes, but this time my sleep came in pieces. Every time I opened my eyes, I looked out the window. From above, the city looked beautiful. I had heard that Toronto was known for its nights, and now I could see it.

Then the airplane landed. The first wind that touched my face felt like a slap.

It was freezing. Where I came from, it never snowed. Summers reached forty degrees, and warmth was something I never had to think about.

I remember standing in line, texting my parents and everyone else.

I’ve arrived.

After that, everything moved quickly. Officers asked questions I had prepared for. I answered carefully, holding onto each word. Then they handed me a piece of paper. In a strange way, it became my first identity in this new country.

I had planned to live in the college residence . Partly because it was close to campus, and partly because I wanted the full experience of being a student somewhere new.

Before arriving, I had filled out a questionnaire about my personality, interests, and lifestyle. The school was trying to match roommates who might get along.

I met my first roommate and liked her immediately. But in those first few days, something strange happened. I forgot the little English I knew. People call it culture shock. Whatever it was, words didn’t come easily. My tongue felt slower than my thoughts.

One day, she asked me a yes-or-no question. I moved my head up and down to say no. She looked confused. That was one of my first lessons.

Here, “no” wasn’t up and down. It was side to side.

There were other surprises too. Pickles were sweet. Yogurt was sweet. No offence to sweet-pickle lovers, I just had no idea pickles could taste like that.

Eventually, we started understanding each other better. I baked something for her. She introduced me to Dal, an Indian dish I ended up loving. I was grateful for that first connection. Then she told me it was her last semester and she would be moving out in a month.

I remember feeling disappointed. I had only just begun to feel comfortable. That became a theme of those early months. Just when I thought I had figured something out, I had to start again.

Before the semester started, I had to take an English assessment.

There were eight levels. I was placed in level four. I remember feeling crushed. All I could think about was the extra time, the extra money, and how far behind I felt. Then orientation arrived.

We sat in a room full of people from different countries, backgrounds, and ages. Someone asked me a question I had never considered before.

“What is your English name?”

I looked around.

Many people seemed prepared for this question.

I wasn’t. Some students encouraged me to choose an easier name. “Maybe Rose,” someone suggested but I resisted. I couldn't!

My name wasn’t easy to pronounce, but it was mine. I asked if I could keep it.

“Of course,” they said. So I did. Some people learned to pronounce Bahareh or Bahar. Some never did. And honestly, that was okay. I’m glad I kept it. A name becomes part of your identity. You hear it in childhood. You hear it when people celebrate you, comfort you, call you home for dinner, and tell stories about you.

I have complete respect for people who choose a new name. I just didn’t want to feel forced to leave mine behind. A few weeks later, I met Professor Anne. To this day, she remains one of the best people I have ever known.

She was warm, open, encouraging, and made every student feel like they belonged in the room. After a while, she told me she thought I can be in a higher level. I explained that I hadn’t done well on the assessment and I learned that I needed a score above ninety to skip a level.

Eventually, I did. The following semester, I moved to level six. At the time, I thought being placed in level four was a failure. Years later, I see it differently. Sometimes what feels like falling behind is actually life placing the right people in your path. Professor Anne helped me in ways I couldn’t have imagined. She introduced me to opportunities. She helped me get my first job. She became one of my first professional references.

One of our assignments was to pair up with a classmate, choose a place in the city, explore it together, and present what we learned. I remember spending an entire day wandering through a museum, trying to understand both the city and the people around me.

At the time, everything felt difficult. Today, it feels precious. Eight years have passed since that flight landed. When I think about those first months, I don’t remember the paperwork, the forms, or the confusion nearly as much as I remember the people.

Starting over is rarely as dramatic as we imagine.

Most of the time, it looks like learning one small thing at a time. And then one day, without realizing it, the place that once felt unfamiliar begins to feel like part of your story.

What is one part of yourself you are glad you didn’t leave behind?

With heart,

Bahar