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Viru Street was like the trunk of the tree that was the Old Town of Tallinn, Estonia, running through the old city wall and into streets that could easily be mistaken for the setting of a medieval fairytale.

Reading Kathleen’s diary, I expected to find myself immersed in an emotional and social narrative completely different from my own, to travel to a completely different Toronto, but was surprised at how familiar it was.

Having Arthur as a daily constant became very important to me, as did its unwaveringly upbeat messages. The idea of being normal became important—Arthur was a lesson in staying the same, in dealing with life’s big problems in small, manageable pieces.

There was a hierarchy of coolness quickly solidifying. I can remember sitting as quietly as I could on the staircase landing leading up there, now unable to remember if I was hoping to absorb knowledge by osmosis or be invited up to prove I knew just as much as them.

The house interior has been divided into more or less one apartment per floor of the house, a feature that was often meant to accommodate multiple families in the early pioneering days. The floors are decorated with tiles, or azulejos, in swirling patterns of orange, green, brown, yellow, and red—the positive and hopeful colours of the late 1960s and 1970s when Portuguese people came en masse to Canada.

The Trudeaus were popular, especially with young people, because they were grounded. Pierre and Margaret hung out with musicians like John Lennon and Yoko Ono, and made silly faces at the cameras. Justin displays a similar accessibility—he has been filmed performing his party trick of falling down a set of stairs and is often seen hamming it up in public just as his father used to.

Like many self-conscious young adults, I rarely view the past through a rose-tinted lens or a pinhole camera. Looking back on myself at the age of 17, 15, 13…well, frequently my reaction is to cringe with embarrassment.

This past September, I learned of a couple in Washington state who live their lives as though it were the late Victorian era. The wife, Sarah A. Chrisman, published an article on Vox titled, “I love the Victorian era. So I decided to live in it.” In the article, she outlines the material aspects of

My dad’s new house had white walls and a thin layer of snow covering the decaying leaves on the lawn. Inside smelled new, and I felt small.

I speak about who I am in relation to my local surroundings, as they are integral to my personal interests. It makes sense, then, that when change happens to the neighbourhood you’ve lived in your entire life, it isn’t just a change; it’s a significant personal transformation.