So there I was, 19 years old, living in Halifax by myself. I remember putting together shelves while listening to Stevie Wonder on the record player, hanging twinkly lights on my balcony, and feeling like a grown-up buying milk at the local Sobey's.
Halifax became my home. It was the first time I felt independent, the first time I lived on my own, and the first time I felt as though I could really shape who I wanted to become. I made friends. I studied. I worked. I did indeed wear chunky turtlenecks as I walked to my local coffeeshop to read. I fell in love with my community and the life I created. And perhaps most importantly, I started writing.
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