Canada
Canada, once shaped by Indigenous nations and later divided between French and British rule, carries a history of struggle and compromise. Out of this past, it built an image of peace and multicultural harmony. For immigrants, Canada symbolizes safety, stability, and dignity—a country where diversity is officially embraced. Yet peace is never simple. Foreign skills are often overlooked, winters are long, and isolation lingers. Canada is both a land of peace and of endurance, where true belonging comes slowly, through patience and resilience.
Flight to Canada We did not leave America with ceremony. We slipped away, almost unnoticed, as though the years we had endured there were nothing more than a fever that had finally broken. The classrooms, the harsh voices, the tired evenings of lessons—these we abandoned without looking back.
My mother called Canada peaceful. She said it would give us air to breathe. I could not imagine what peace looked like, only that it was not America. On the plane, the sky was blank and indifferent. Beneath the clouds, the country of freedom grew smaller, until it was only a memory that pressed against us like a bruise.
It was not hope that carried us across the border. It was not even belief. It was simply the need to leave. And sometimes leaving is the only freedom a family can claim.
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Canada, once shaped by Indigenous nations and later divided between French and British rule, carries a history of struggle and compromise. Out of this past, it built an image of peace and multicultural harmony. For immigrants, Canada symbolizes safety, stability, and dignity—a country where diversity is officially embraced. Yet peace is never simple. Foreign skills are often overlooked, winters are long, and isolation lingers. Canada is both a land of peace and of endurance, where true belonging comes slowly, through patience and resilience.
Flight to Canada We did not leave America with ceremony. We slipped away, almost unnoticed, as though the years we had endured there were nothing more than a fever that had finally broken. The classrooms, the harsh voices, the tired evenings of lessons—these we abandoned without looking back.
My mother called Canada peaceful. She said it would give us air to breathe. I could not imagine what peace looked like, only that it was not America. On the plane, the sky was blank and indifferent. Beneath the clouds, the country of freedom grew smaller, until it was only a memory that pressed against us like a bruise.
It was not hope that carried us across the border. It was not even belief. It was simply the need to leave. And sometimes leaving is the only freedom a family can claim.
← back