This personal account reflects the journey of Caitlyn Moony, who aspires to establish roots in Vancouver. For additional insights into CBC’s personal narratives, refer to the FAQ section.

Once, an ex-partner sent me a song by the British indie artist Passenger with the lyrics, “Only know you love her when you let her go,” in an attempt to reconcile. I chose to delete the message as it seemed impolite to confess affection only after parting ways.

Now, it’s my turn to reminisce about what I once cherished.

Upon relocating to Vancouver from Johannesburg in 2018, I was well-informed. Having previously worked as a freelance social researcher in South Africa, I adored my job. However, the limited career progression opportunities and dismal pay prompted concerns about my future financial stability and ability to support my aging parents. Having lived in Ukraine, southeast Asia, and the U.K., I was accustomed to uprooting myself and starting anew. Moreover, Vancouver, consistently ranked as one of the top cities to reside in, was already home to my sister’s expanding family. I envisioned Canada, with its politeness, attractive Prime Minister, to be a seamless transition.

Prior to my arrival, I envisioned engaging in yoga amidst the trendy Kitsilano crowd, skiing down Grouse Mountain, and taking a refreshing dip in English Bay before indulging in cocktails at Yaletown.

Upon my Vancouver arrival, I marveled at the city’s beauty. The sight of the towering North Shore mountains from afar while sipping hot chocolate in the heart of the city amazed me. The gentle rain in Pacific Spirit Park, as I walked with my eldest nephew, brought a smile to my face. I was captivated by bus drivers pausing during the morning rush for a quick coffee break.

However, as time passed, I realized it wasn’t love after all. When Vancouver didn’t align with my expectations, resentment crept in.

Lacking connections and the elusive “Canadian experience” sought in job postings, I settled for an administrative role at a startup. Working long hours for meager pay, I could barely afford the high rent of a basement suite where my head grazed the low ceiling. Thin walls and noisy neighbors added to my exhaustion.

My sense of helplessness transformed into disdain. I criticized Vancouver’s limited Skytrain routes, compared it to London’s tube system, and struggled with the slower West Coast pace of life. The persistent rain leaving a wet dog odor in buses and elevators further added to my frustration.

Primarily, I missed the sense of community. Previously embedded in ready-made social circles as a teacher, volunteer, or student, I felt isolated in Vancouver. I couldn’t locate where people congregated.