I’m not sure why I randomly got motivated to write about my life, maybe because I returned from vacation. This summer I spent three weeks away visiting my family and friends in Europe and Israel, sightseeing, hiking, relaxing at the beach and drinking wine accompanied by great food. Whenever I come back to Canada I always feel out of place, empty even. It’s not necessarily because of coming back to reality, but rather the change of energy, culture and lifestyle in North America. For example; when I left Toronto I stopped smoking weed for most of the three weeks I was away, without even thinking about it! I was so busy hanging out with friends at night and being surrounded by supporting people, it made me forget all about getting high. To be fair I did drink… The moment I landed back in Toronto I asked myself “what am I supposed to do with the rest of my day?”.

A few things; it’s not that I don’t have friends here in Toronto, but it’s difficult for times to line up when everyone is constantly working. Moreover, when there is a friend to see, there aren’t many options of things to do. For example, there’s no warm beaches, fun sports to play, museums and sights to see. There are restaurants, and movie theaters, and shopping malls and … more restaurants…. And sport games. Of course I’m slightly exaggerating, but the point is even when there is someone to do its miles away and/or costs money. It’s a hard first world country life.

But, on a more positive note, I’ve been appreciating the little things that happen, seeing them almost in a movie-like light. For example, certain small events in the last two days have caused me to laugh at the irony that is my life, and I decided to write a diary, because they’re just so damn funny.

Although I personally can’t stand the nightlife in Toronto, which is nothing compared to other counties I’ve been to (according to my taste), I decided to go out the other night. Everyone knows that I am more of a smoker than a drinker (everyone has their vice), and so I don’t tend to drink much, unless its paired with dinner. My friend came by, with her signature bottle of tequila in hand — fun fact, she helped me discover my allergy to it. We went to grab Tacos where I downed some margaritas, took a nap at home while she got ready, and hit my hangover by the time we got to the party.

The party we were invited to was an Air Bn’B for a friend of a friend’s birthday. A small bachelor apartment on Queen St filled with neon lights. Although I brought a tiny bottle of fireball with me (as I mentioned, I don’t drink), I turned down many opportunities to take shots. The party didn’t seem very interesting. People were only talking to others they knew, or were engaging in flirting. I always find it hard to make friends here, but I am also extremely biased due to the depression that has salted me since I’ve been back. My friend obviously thought otherwise, as she drank her shots of tequila while I ate the complementary Krispy Kreme donuts.

By the time we got into the Uber, I guess she was feeling the drinks because she had fallen asleep on the ride back to my apartment. Such a deep sleep that I had attempted multiple times to awaken her while the Uber driver sat paralyzed, watching me. She kept waking up and falling back asleep folding herself in half so that her head sat in her lap. I had finally yanked her by the arm and she got out of the car and headed towards the elevators in my building, continuously falling asleep while walking, bumping into walls and planters.

In the elevator she turns to me “I think I need to vomit”.

“Well were almost home” I reply.

Upon our arrival home, we woke up my roommate who, while I was busy, went to the bathroom. All I see is my friend leave my room and walk towards the bathroom.

“Oh hello sweetie” you could hear my roommate say. “Oh, oh okay” she said as she walked out of the bathroom, “I guess I’m not peeing right now” she giggled, as my friend shoved her way back over the toilet bowl. I couldn’t help but laugh thinking about her, mutley shooing my roommate off the toilet.

After a few retches, my friend came back into my room and passed out, rolled up in a ball in the center of my bed. When I was ready to go to bed, I attempted to move her onto her side. Although she was drunkenly resisting me, I was finally able to get her into a position that allowed me to get into bed. As I laid there in the dark, I could hear her spitting, literally spitting, next to me.

I thought to myself as I listened; “Should I ask her if she needs to vomit?Nah, it’ll be fine, she’ll get up if she needs to puke”, I reassured myself.

As I finished that thought, I heard my friend vomit.

I am not lying. As I turned around I could see my friend, still fast asleep, vomiting onto my bed. If it wasn’t for the fact that I was nervous of having to call the ambulance for my friend choking on vomit, I would be mad in about the whole situation. But, because she was still asleep, and I had to drag her to the garbage bin by the hair, I hadn’t had the chance to get angry. I spent the rest of the hour at 2am, soberly cleaning the three layers stained with vomit, redoing the bed, and trying to control a drunk 22-year-old.

Although I love all my friends, these are situations that I never have to endure while away on vacation. In fact, if my friend hadn’t been at my house, I would have potentially done nothing to help her drunk a**. While I was in Greece before arriving back home, I couldn’t help look but through Instagram stories of people back home in Toronto, and felt instantly displaced. One of the people in the friend group in Greece came from Canada and wore head to toe in Gucci designer clothes. We all couldn’t help laughing that he thought the people on the island would even look at that. In fact, the showcasing of the material is actually seen as an exaggeration. The fact that money is spent on clothes and cars rather than family or education — this was what I was coming back to. Women throwing bridesmaid parties with male strippers and balloon shaped dicks. To people spilling expensive bottles into the mouths of girls wearing mini dresses and puffed up lips. A life where everyone works five days a week from 9am-5pm, then goes home, eats dinner in front of the TV, and then goes to bed or goes drinking (where women don’t even get picked up anymore).

I’m so bored sometimes when I’m here. The other day, I fell asleep while broiling a crème brûlée in the oven around 11pm (from lack of things to do). I woke up around 5 hours later to the house smelling of someone baking a large batch of cookies. Startled and shocked that nothing bad happened, I dispatched of the burnt dessert, and thought to myself, “wow, I really have to do something about this boredom”. So I might as well appreciate the little things in life, and write about the sweet nothings that occur to me day-to-day. Viva North America!

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