Liz's First New Year’s Day in Canada

I still vividly remember the details of our first big move in Canada. It was January 1, 1998, a frigid New Year's Day.

My sister and I were set to move into a cramped yet charming studio apartment in the heart of downtown Winnipeg, complete with its own tiny kitchen and bathroom strategically hidden behind what appeared to be a closet door. The space was undoubtedly modest, yet spacious enough to house two teenage girls with few belongings.

We were fortunate enough to inherit some furniture from an international student who was leaving town. An unmistakably 80's vintage orange foral velour pattern was imprinted on our first couch. Our excitement was palpable even though the furnishings were clearly thrifted and worn down.

Regardless of the circumstances, we were still grateful. Our budget was tight, having just moved to Canada alone with a finite amount of dollars in our bank account. At this point, what we cared most about was securing the essentials.?

The next day, we embarked upon a journey to Superstore on Grant. We had to transfer from one public bus to the next, wholly fearful about the potential of missing our stop and anxious about our unfamiliar surroundings. We were venturing far beyond our limited familiarity with downtown and did not have the luxury of a map or GPS to send us down the right path.

Thankfully, we made it to our destination. However, we faced an unfamiliar request upon entering the grocery store, "Please take off your backpacks and leave them at the door."

My sister and I were puzzled by this ask, as we had brought our backpacks to carry our groceries. We later realized that this protocol was to prevent shoplifting, a foreign concept to our family, as this practice was uncommon in Korea. Such cultural nuances continued to baffle us throughout those first few years in Canada.

Our shopping list included the bare necessities: fruits, vegetables and meat. We also spotted a bookshelf and screwdriver set that would help us build some much-needed storage space, flat-packed like what you would now find at IKEA.

At the checkout, we reunited with our backpacks that helped us haul our groceries back to our apartment. However, we had an excess of two more bags and the bulky bookshelf box left to manage. Awkwardly, we reboarded the bus with our heavy backpacks, an unwieldy box and thin plastic grocery bags.

As luck would have it on our already challenging journey home, one of the plastic bags decided to give out at the most inopportune moment. Apples, oranges and the rest of our groceries were now strewn across the bus floor. Thankfully, some fellow passengers came to our aid, rescuing our runaway fruit, and the items all made their way safely back to our apartment on Colony St.

Reflecting upon those first few months in Canada, this seemingly mundane day frequently resurfaces in my memories. I can still feel the bitter cold and goosebumps running down my spine that fateful morning. I can still feel my sweaty palms stemming from the nervousness of travelling alone in a foreign neighbourhood. I can still feel the slipperiness of the box as we hauled our groceries halfway across town.

Navigating the city via public transportation, paired with our limited English skills, was a nerve-wracking endeavour. However, a silver lining stood out from this otherwise tense journey across town. This day marked one of my first exposures to the kindness of strangers and the friendly Manitoban way, which continued to set the tone for what life would be like living in Winnipeg.?

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