There are a lot of assumptions made about Toronto by the citizens of a medium-sized rural town like my hometown of Sudbury, Ontario. Before coming to U of T, I believed that living in Toronto would help me realize new heights as a socially independent adult, and that the city would be my gateway into unparalleled cultural events and opportunities.
Not that these assumptions were necessarily wrong, but the images I had of my newfound identity as the pinnacle of urban sophistication were, upon retrospection, not completely realistic. I envisioned myself in a luxurious drawing room, tapping ostentatious wine glasses with my high-class friends in their high-class clothes, sitting in high-backed chairs with a roaring fire playing light patterns off our glasses. Perhaps I’d say something clever, and we’d gently titter behind our hands, like nineteenth-century capitalists at a “we’re all incredibly wealthy” party, and drink to our health. Yes, this was my image of the university, a concept that in complete sincerity made up at least half of the reason I came.
My parents and perhaps more level-headed friends had other-just as deluded-opinions of what downtown Toronto life was like. One widespread opinion in Sudbury is that Torontonians are simply dirtier people. This is, of course, a ridiculous claim-in fact, in Toronto I know several people who take showers at least twice a day. In Sudbury, I had friends that would sometimes go for weeks without bathing simply to see if they could.
“Don’t die, okay?” was a phrase I heard often from friends during my last week in Sudbury from friends. Yes, Toronto has a reputation for danger, but really, Sudbury is just as perilous. Some of the stranger wildlife found at College and Spadina at 4 am on a Friday night could give the rapid animals that roam Sudbury a run for their money.
After a month, I’d say the true Toronto lies somewhere in between the two stereotypes. My initial conception of Toronto left out the vulnerability and isolation I felt just walking down the crowded streets, especially at first. The city is far from empty, but that didn’t keep me from feeling alone. And there is an element of danger. After a month, I’m still uneasy about walking the streets alone after dark, and I’m continually sizing up situations based on my surroundings. My friends here do probably dress with more of an “urban flair,” but conversely have no qualms about drinking vodka straight from the bottle.
Though the transition has at times been challenging, I also feel like the experience is valuable to my growth into an independent adult who can thrive in any environment. What’s a city, anyway? There are just a few more people here. And as long as you can find friends to accept and celebrate your presence in their lives, and theirs in yours, anywhere can soon become home.
