Dear Montréal,

I have such an ambivalent relationship with you. I came to you for a life I thought I was building, but that life changed, faster than I ever expected. But leaving was never a real option, so I stayed, for reasons deeper than choice. And because of that, I have often experienced you more as a cage than a home.

It was in your winters that the weight of staying became almost unbearable.Walking your streets, I often looked up at the grey sky, the bare trees, the empty roads. The cold bit into my skin, my dry lips cracked, my body wrapped in layers; scarves, socks, boots: each one feeling more like armour than warmth. And with tears in my eyes, I would ask myself: why? Why should I subject my body and mind to this? Why should I stay here?

And maybe that was the hardest part, how far you felt from anything that resembled home. How you were distant from everything I had ever known: the beliefs I held, the people I loved. Most of the time, I felt lost in your unfamiliar landscape.

The cold. The long winters. The indifference of people. The endless paperwork. Work that consumed you. The isolation.

 I felt empty. I felt sad. But more than anything, I felt abandoned.

And still, I held on, because deep down, I knew that staying served something greater than my longing to be somewhere else. To be anywhere really.  

And yet, despite it all, you changed me

Yes, I admit that have hated you. And to be honest, I am still learning how to love you. Or at least to lean into acceptance. Because there is more to you than the cage and the feeling of being lost.

With you, I was forced to reinvent who I thought I was, to reach for something closer to my essence. You made me confront myself in ways I never had before.

And in this strange coexistence between death and rebirth, maybe it is time to make peace with you.

So I want to offer what feels like a love letter. One that is unexpected, complex perhaps, but also sincere. Because I am slowly beginning to notice a few things I truly love about you. So here it is

I like you in the summertime. Your sun, your humidity, your energy, they remind me of my hometown, Douala. People feel warmer, the landscape more familiar, and I no longer experience the isolation of staying indoors. I go out. I walk. I enjoy your festivals and your vibrant pulse.

I also like Atwater Market in the summer. There is something about that place that brings me to life. It reminds me of walking through markets back home with my basket, buying fresh fruits and vegetables from local farmers. eating street food on the spot. Something about it feels like home.

I love Mont-Royal. I do not go there as often as I used to, but it still holds a quiet place of gratitude in me, a kind of happy melancholia. It had witnessed and still hold the secret of wandering soul during times I was searching for meaning, for softness, for something sacred within myself.

I have cried there. I meditated while laying in it grasses. Its grass has carried the weight of my body or may be, more accurately, the weight of my pain. My empty eyes have scanned its horizon sometimes looking at the sky and sometimes at its emptiness.

I love Concordia University for everything it taught me about inclusive community, social justice, and the other issues that matter. It gave me the validation I didn’t know I needed about intellectual abilities a place of insecurities. It offered me space to grow, not only as a student, but as a parent. I am deeply grateful for the moments when my children were welcomed into classrooms when I had no other choice but to bring them along. That space gave me a sense of belonging.

You have also taught me to be okay with silence and solitude, because company and noise do not always equate belonging or acceptance. You helped me sit still, long enough to actually hear myself. To stop chasing connection out of fear or lack, and instead approach it with curiosity, openness and yes, with standards. You reminded me to be myself even under the weight of judgement or rejection. To act from, principles even if it means walking alone.

You have been harsh. You have been cold. You have been overwhelming at times. But you have also been the ground where I cracked open. You are the place where I took my power back, where I have felt freer than I ever have.

So this is my love letter to you, Montréal. You may not be the city of my heart, but you are the city of my transformation. And for that, I will always carry a deep, quiet gratitude.

With love,

R-D