It took me five minutes to decide and eight hours to fly to relocate to a country more than 5,000 miles away. One day, my mother carefully approached me and asked, “Would you like to study abroad in Canada?” I didn’t know where this sudden and radical suggestion was coming from, but I said “yes” in a heartbeat. I was having a terrible time at school, and my mother could clearly see that because she knows her son. 

On August 10th, 2017, I boarded a plane heading for Vancouver, Canada, from Seoul, South Korea, all by myself. I had to come to Seoul on another plane from Busan, the second largest metropolis in Korea. Though alone and a bit scared, I was an eleven-year-old boy filled with excitement for my new life. Previously, I had never stepped outside the continent of Asia, and I could not help but find myself envisioning the Western World to be something glamorous, even magnificent. The movies on the ride helped me with specific references when my imagination alone could not suffice.

I still remember the fresh air full of hope and promise when I finally stepped outside the plane. My homestay guardians had a large sign with my name on it, which made me feel as if I had already made it in life. They greeted me with warm hugs and smiles, and although my English at the time was rather broken and short, I did my best to reciprocate their cordiality with firm grips on the hugs and waving my arms in bodily gestures to answer how my ride was.

When I got in the backseat of their car after loading the luggage, I finally had some quiet peace to slow down and look out the window. At first, we were taking the scenic route, but soon, the city of Vancouver approached us. It was a little different from how I imagined the place, but nonetheless, it was enough to fascinate a teenage boy on the journey of his life. Coming from Busan, I was familiar with the urban vista, but I thought to myself how little changes—the unfamiliar colors of the road signs, different patterns of the sidewalks, similar yet distinct architectures, and peculiar people on the streets with odd fashions (In Korea, I always thought that sunglasses were luxury fashion items, not a necessity when stepping outside)—accumulated to materialize this new world in front of my eyes. Even the sky seemed to be a different shade of blue.

After two hours in the car, I was ready to step outside the car and stretch my arms any minute. However, we rode on—past the skyscrapers, people, and traffic lights. Just as I was starting to wonder if I was being kidnapped in this new, foreign world, the car came to a stop. The new house was huge and fancy enough. Still, without the linguistic ability to ask for details about where we are exactly—and the contextual background knowledge of the geography to understand the answer even if I had been given one—I wondered if this was a temporary stop.

The thing was that, for more than half an hour, it seems as if we were riding through the middle of nowhere. All I saw in the car and all I could see from where I stood were green grass and lush bushes and trees. The closest house was almost on the horizon, and I could not recall seeing any signs of civilization that I was accustomed to.

Vancouver is known to be one of the most beloved cities on this earth with cozy weather, high standards of living, and great infrastructure. However, that was Vancouver—which I thought was where I was going to be spending my year. Instead, I survived a year in Maple Ridge at the farthest edge of the region. Perhaps my shock is difficult to deliver in words, but hear me out. I lived in Busan, the second largest city in Korea, and every day, I rode the elevator and pressed “36” to get to my apartment. However, I soon discovered that Maple Ridge boasted one building with an elevator throughout the whole town. My school owned 50 acres of land, which I thought was magnificent. What I didn’t know was that 45 out of the 50 is reserved not for people but for a diversity of frogs, crickets, and squirrels. 

My mother sent me on this life journey to see, explore, and experience the bigger world out there. Nevertheless, the only question I had was, “What bigger world?”

Little did I know that Maple Ridge would eventually grow on me. I soon found my morning routine of waiting for the school bus in the quiet without the bustle of the city to be a comforting ritual. At school, I was introduced to new language, knowledge, and friendships that were all galvanizing, unlike the pressures I used to feel in Korea. After school, life in the rural seemed to be a puzzle piece that had been missing from my childhood. At night, I could look outside my window and see the stars enveloping the sky. I never knew that there were so many stars, so bright and infinite beyond count. 

Admittedly, my first impression of Maple Ridge was rather negative, and yes, at times, I missed the convenience of the city. However, most of the features that I missed were things that I could live without. There were more chances to use my hands and my creativity and imagination. Moreover, time somehow flowed more slowly when you are surrounded by nature.

But time did flow regardless of my perception, and a year later, I was back on the plane heading for home. After another 5,000 miles, 8 hours of flight, and 2 hours in a car, I pressed the number, 36, in my elevator. I was already missing Maple Ridge. Now, I was surrounded by so many cars, people, and buildings of apartments. My perception of time, which had been put on slow-mo, was syncing with the city almost to the point where I was feeling dizzy. The once familiar scene had now become unfamiliar. 

When I tried to remember Maple Ridge, everything seemed like a long yet distant dream. And sadly, being the teenage boy I am, the only souvenirs I brought were some local key chains for my parents. They did not have much use for it, so I retrieved them, though I do not own any physical keys.

To this day, I always use phone cases with a loop so that I can chain the souvenir of my childhood. It seems a little lame, but still, it does a wonderful job of reminding me of the life I had everywhere I go. I plan on keeping it that way until the day I revisit where my most cherished childhood memories reside to replace it with something more significant or meaningful—or just cooler. Or maybe I’ll just keep them both. Either way, every time I look at my simple souvenir, I dream of the day.