I carry two passports. France and Canada own pieces of me. Some say it’s waffling, not being proudly, firmly one or the other. I am Canadian. I am also French.
Step inside our home and it’s clear that both have a bearing on our lives. In small ways. In big ways. Every day.
A hockey bag propped in the corner of our family room. It’s late June, but where else would it be? Canada
A well-used, hand-woven shopping basket that crossed an ocean with us sits inside the front closet. France
A hoodie, elbows worn and faded, draped over an armchair. Canada
A collection of bowls decorated with childhood characters stacked inside the cupboard, ready for the daily bowl of café au lait. France
A clutch of hockey sticks leans within reach outside the front door. Waiting for an impromptu game. Canada
An aged photograph framed by my grandfather. France
A pine cone my daughter brought home from Provence and rocks collected in British Columbia share space on my desk. France and Canada
Photographs and treasures and books and memories. France and Canada
There are days when the pull of one makes me daydream and feel homesick. And then tomorrow comes and I look in another direction. Don’t make me choose. I love them both.
Kat @ jackstrawlane
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