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Bullets and Butterflies Tue, Jul 22nd 2008 9:15 pm
It seems like so long ago that I was wishing so hard for myself to be in University. I wanted the challenge of its demands and the rush of its atmosphere. College felt too much like high school, and University just seemed like something so much bigger than I could ever handle. And I wanted to handle it. Now I’m starting to feel as though I’m stranded and back-paddling in some rickety, old canoe on approach to the edge of a cartoon-sized waterfall.
Things were going fine until I started hunting for apartments in more ideal proximity to the Keele campus. York, for those unfamiliar, is not exactly proximate to anything “ideal”, which made the whole experience a little off-putting. Or a lot off-putting. I’ll spare you the gritty details, but some of the places I visited flirted with the law in terms of safety and — if any such laws exist — those relating to health and sanitation. If the place was nice, the neighbourhood was not. Or the other way around. I did find one nice place in a nice neighbourhood, but it was an inconvenient distance from any of the three campuses I’ll be frequenting, and the landlord was a bit of a douche.
I settled on one of the nice places in a not-so-nice neighbourhood as, given the choices, most would expect from someone as particular about his dwelling as I am. My place is being built and I’ll be its first tenant. Granted, there will probably be many more following me within a short time considering the ratio of bullets-to-air in what I will henceforth refer to as “the ‘hood”.
The danger is probably not quite as extreme as I’m suggesting, but the reactions I’ve been getting from people about my new location range from “Oh, but the place is nice?” to a sort of awkward silence wherein, I assume, they’re recalling fond memories of me and wondering what they’ll say at my closed-casket funeral. It’s always some form of reluctant enthusiasm. “Yaaaay you’re moving to Kipling… That should be… An interesting experience.” Then there’s more pausing and reflecting, like they’re waiting for me to say they can have all my stuff when I’m gone.
I reassure myself that things won’t be so rough, as my ‘hood is very near to the Sears Outlet center. While the place may closely resemble a prison, it does attract thousands of people a day, a good percentage of which live to see their families again. So if it’s safe enough for Sears fans, maybe it’s safe enough for me. Or maybe murderous thieves just know that Sears fans aren’t exactly the greatest sources of wealth, and maybe those Sears fans are just desperate enough for a good deal that they’re willing to risk their lives for a dirt-cheap patio set. Err… I’m going to have to try harder to stop those trains of thought before they leave the station.
Anyway, my place is mine and I’m moving in at the start of August. It’s nice inside, and I’m hoping that with just the right touch of IKEA lighting, it’ll feel comfortable enough that I won’t notice how scary the “real world” is outside my freshly-painted walls. My landlords are nice, and they have a young child, so I assume they’ve got some faith in the locals. I’m also right across from a McDonald’s. So there’s that.
Despite the nerve-racking experience of finding a place in Toronto, I’m still looking forward to the “school” part. Mostly. I’m hoping that I’m still as able to focus on projects as I was in high school and college, but if I’m not, I expect I’ll catch on quickly. Four years of this, and I’ll be ready to start living my real life; the one where Sears Outlets are IKEAs and bullets are butterflies. And it’ll be awesome.
PS: If you have anything to say to me, you should probably say it n — Naw, I’ll be fine…
