Catching Up
Waking up to a neighbourhood covered in white, I feel awed but also uneasy. The grass on the path vanished into a thick mossy blanket of white foam. Snow is gliding down through the air. The whiteness seems to give it more substance, but snowflakes are softer and lighter than raindrops, so they flow rather than fall. Seeing the trees I know by heart bending over under hefty snow and shaking it off shows me a new resilience in them that used to pass me by. There’s so much power in the snow and the fauna and flora living with it that when I’m in the middle of the sight, I’m lost as to how I feel.
The next thing that pops up in mind is utterly random — is there breakfast today? Do our kitchen staff have to come all the way here? The road must be jammed now and classes are moved online. I both crave food and feel guilty about it. Turns out there is. Some are able to make it. Imagine driving in the snow in utter darkness to this college for work while the office staff don’t have to. They say traffic is smooth in early morning and with this snow, an extra ten minutes will do the work.
Coming across that much snow for the first time is, I guess, my twenty-ninth birthday gift. I was just off from a class when my classmates said it snowed. I peeked outside, decided that it’s safe and I could take the cold, so I crept out of the Library, slowly breathing in the air. Part of me was still figuring out what was going on. Something new and surreal welled up like a scene from Japanese films, Russian literature, and Christmas songs, the arts that show me what snow is aesthetically. I strolled around the Library and the Chemistry Building, two of the very few European buildings here, taking snapshots. The gentle brush of snow against my cheeks set me to smile. Yes, this was snow, not sleet, not frost, not freezing rain. At last, my doubt was cleared. Snowflakes fell onto my mittens, marvelling me with their unique shapes, exactly like what people say. But snow isn’t marshmallow, more like particles of ice gravel locked together, crunching under my feet. It’s the unseeable mass in snow that amazed me.
It’s El Niño winter in North America, so snow has come much later than usual. It would have snowed several times in this month, but this year, it’s only started. The moment it comes, it’s a storm. Mid-January is typically the coldest time of the year. My mum told me that it got very icy after I was born. Capricorn. Stoic, rigid, down-to-earth, labels that people put on this Zodiac sign even before they know the person. Because winter is harsh and one has to be constantly on guard. My friends think I come across as frigid, cold, and aloof when they first met me, but that’s just me being me. I can be defensive, not against people, but disappointment and dejection. I’ve encountered too many instances in which I feel my anticipations are shattered, my effort to sustain a relationship unreciprocated, and what I value as just and right shunned because there’s no ‘benefit’ from them. I can be sceptical and pessimistic. Contradictory as it sounds, it’s a way to attain trust and productivity. I like to brace myself for the worst, so that I can always find out that things turn out better and sustain my morale. Before coming here, I did research and had a long dialogue with myself to debunk any rosy imagination about my future in Vancouver. I knew the hazard and inconvenience of snow, the filth when it gets run over by muddy cars. If I have to manage my expectations of this place, snow will be a good starting point.
Luckily, I am coping just fine. It’s not that cold when it’s snowing. The sight is very nice but I am hesitant to romanticise it. Is it beautiful? It definitely is. To those of us living in the subtropical, snow is a magical scene from the movies. What we don’t know is the nuisance it brings to commuters and the homeless. In Vancouver, snow doesn’t get melted or ploughed. Drivers slow down with unreliable tires, sliding and swirling at any moment. An online video shows a man skiing literally in deep snow in the neighbourhood because it’s impossible for cars to get in. My classmates took long hours to go back home last week. Many had to get off the bus and walk on slippery streets in the dark. Just imagine the dread and toil. It’s nothing much different from a typhoon except that it has an angelic face. On this snowy day, a car crashed in a parking lot on campus and a person died on the spot. Driving in Canada is another level of risk-taking.
One of the kitchen staff at my dorm is a fellow Hongkonger. He said when he first came, he had big plans. Everything here pointed to a good new start. Even the snow was thrilling. But now he’s exhausted and agitated, grappling with all the extra responsibilities as a father, husband, and migrant. Life overseas is never easy. Many years ago, I had a lecture on cultural shock, which means anxiety and confusion that arise from the struggle to move into a new culture. It’s very noticeable, not just because it’s strong, but also as it’s a huge contrast to the enthusiasm and excitement with which people first perceive something exotic and foreign. I know the theory. I know that I’ll begin to have fatigue after the first month. If not, then three months will be the breaking point. I can even predict all the self-doubting and self-deprecating tantrums I’ll throw at myself. I am a control freak. All these mental preparations for a possible defeat is to counteract this insurmountable curse on settlers. I want to be the special one who can break the spell.
Turns out, whether you set yourself up for disappointment, you’ll meet it sooner than you think. Maybe I’m being over-protective, worrying that one such instance can crush me? Maybe it’s not disenchantment at all, or hurdle, for to think so is to put ourselves in the centre. It’s just the way things are. We’re way too quick to make judgments about what’s good and bad, especially in nature, purely based on appearance or immediate effects it inflicts on us. Water bears and cockroaches look abhorrent so they must be harmful. Snow and the ocean are beautiful so everything about them is tranquil. But in nature, things just be. It’s the thinking that leads to bias. Nature is not our friend, nor something we can be ‘close’ to. This is why we are always so humbled by it, isn’t it?
If the temperature is agreeable, I find myself walking alone in the snow. The campus looks entirely different and with 20cm snow, I have to find ways to navigate safely. I will next time, more wisely, most probably with help and advice. I start to see this place in a new light. There’s beauty in previously unassuming spots. With snow, you double the visual experience. The layers of white coniferous leaves, the campus maintenance vans, workers ploughing the snow, people sleighing, building gigantic snowmen, to name a few. This intermingling air of businesslike get-the-thing-done seriousness and the exhilaration of reclaiming class hours with games brings me inspiration. I’m always at war with myself : do I go out or stay in? Both give food to my writing but I only have one life and one body. I’m a novice at living, desperately making up for my miserable lack of human experience, but I fear that I’m not working hard enough on my writing. I’m friends with solitude, but my limbs need stretching. And I enjoy company too. I give a lot of weight on life, take it seriously, but I’m not wired for sentimentality. This snow intrigues me. I’m getting fresh sensations when listening to Schubert and Rachmaninoff. I think I might give skiing a go one day. Not that I’m a big fan, but here I am already, so why not. I’m a cautiously curious cat who, for all her trepidation, can be counted on for venturing out, whether for a stretch, an outdoor sport, or a conversation. I like to joke to my friend that I’m an ‘impure’ introvert. Over-worriedly keen and keenly over-worried.
Jan 18 2024
