Coming in fresh

Reflections on choosing UofT, taking a gap year, and moving to a new country 

As my dad’s car rounded King’s College Circle, my eyes chanced upon a bright purple banner hanging on the wall of Knox College. It read, “Faith Matters.”  

“Hey mom, I matter,” I said facetiously, though a piece of me felt that this message was a harbinger that UofT might be “my place.”  

I was in grade eleven and had spent the past five days of spring break touring six different colleges. I was filled with heart-fluttering anxiety and an internal pressure to pick the “right place,” not to mention exhausted after driving from New York to Maine to Montréal to Toronto in just a few days. But as I walked around Vic campus on that damp April day, my experience was not marked by tension or worry. I was filled with a deep sense of joy and belonging, struck by the kindness and supportive energy that Vic cultivated. Students waved as we passed and shouted, “Come to Vic!” with enthusiasm. I grew more enamored with each stop on the tour: Burwash Dining Hall gave me mega-Harry Potter vibes (I later learned that it was modelled after the dining hall at Christ Church college at Oxford University, which was the inspiration for the Great Hall in Hogwarts); Emmanuel College Library checked off everything I looked for in a good study space; and Old Vic sent my heart into a tizzy (c’mon… she’s breathtaking).  

By the end of the day, I knew that UofT was at the top of my list. “Great!” I thought. “I’ve got it all figured out.” 

Fast forward to January of grade twelve, when I eagerly accepted my offer to study Life Sciences at Victoria College. In terms of academic requisites, I was all set—but in terms of headspace, I was not. I had become subsumed with academic anxiety and self-doubt, unsure of what I wanted to do moving forward, or who I wanted to be. I had lost sight of the things that once sparked inspiration in my mind, sacrificing my sense of wonder for the predictability of word-for-word textbook study and good marks. After much deliberation, I decided to take a gap year. I needed to spend time “becoming myself,” to regroup and find the confidence to fully pursue my passions. 

It’s impossible to condense a year of scattered experiences and emotional development into just a few words. The best way I can phrase it—the way that feels most genuine—is that I spent the year getting reacquainted with myself, detaching my self-image from my academic status or social identity. I did things that felt meaningful to me, learning how to do what I wanted to do instead of coercing myself into doing things I thought I should do. I got involved with environmental volunteering, worked two jobs, attended public lectures, read lots of good books, and spent time with family. I commuted weekly into New York City (I live just a 40 minute train ride away from Grand Central), navigating busy streets and figuring out how to find comfort in independence. I travelled to Toronto three times to prepare for the year—flying by myself for the first time. Most importantly, I gave myself time to breathe.  

Taking a gap year also gave me a year’s worth of “uni-anticipation” rather than a few summer months. There’s a fair amount of stress in starting university—especially in a new country—and I had a niiiiice long time to ruminate over it. Coming from the States, I initially felt that I wasn’t truly an “international student;” after all, New York is only a one-hour flight from Toronto, and apart from a few differences in pronunciation (“sore-y” and “a-boout”), the language is the same. How different could it be? 

I soon learned that there were several hurdles I had to clear before even coming to Canada: I needed to apply for a study permit (which for me, involved a computer error leading to lost documentation, far too many office calls, and sadly, paying the application fee again); file paperwork for a Canadian bank account and wire my tuition from abroad; and say goodbye to the place that’d been my home for the past nineteen years, the place where I made my first friends and where most of my extended family lives. 

I’ve been in Toronto for a week now, and so far, I haven’t experienced any of the homesickness that I anticipated. Sure, I’ve left my house, left the familiarity and comfort of my small, sleepy town, but a feeling of home has endured. I feel a sense of belonging, a sense of community, and a sense of ease living at Vic. This is not to say that I won’t face difficulties as the year goes on—I know that I will be stressed, I will cry, and I will struggle at times (if not all the time). But reflecting upon what I’ve learned this past year, I know that there is more to my existence than academic performance or social identity. I can find joy in everyday things—in exchanging smiles with a stranger on the subway, evoking a sense of “we’re all just humans on this confusing planet.” I can find it in shouting at the top of my lungs for environmental justice, or in reading a passage that distills the nebulous thoughts in my mind and transforms them into sharp, black ink on a page. It’s these microscopic moments that make up the whole of life; without these moments, life is but a series of chasms, event after event occurring without meaningful experiences to bridge the gaps.  

So, watch the gap. Fill in the spaces in your life with meaningful endeavours and things that bring you purpose. Spend time with friends and family, give yourself a break now and then, and take time to think deeply and question the things that you take for granted. I found that I learned quite a bit when I stopped trying to learn so hard and took the time and space to breathe.