I’ve come from a place where despair is not an option, where too much glitter is never a thing. Days when I find myself occupied in the house, I have only to step outdoors to be slapped in the face by surprise: burros requiring sombreros, infants teething on onions, an old woman as wizened as the avocados she’s selling, rock star beauties queuing up for the bus. Colourful this, cacophonous that. There are no exceptions; this is my everyday in Mexico. Fast forward to this Canada: a silence so profound that I imagine myself cocooned. All sounds, all colours, absorbed by a cushion of snow. The view from the window is a frozen frame blistering before a hot projection lamp. The faint whir of the heat pump, when it splutters to life, feels like an invasion.
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