Like this bowl of rotting strawberries, my life in university is just as decadent as it had been back in my IB years once I and Toronto got to know each other again and I found a group of people who are willing to pamper my childish ways by skipping around downtown with me in the middle of a cold cold night and singing "I believe I can bloody fly" in falsetto voices aimed to break any sober persons' ear drums. But then, that was a night when both reality and idealism obscured in lines waiting for Starbucks, protests against the Syrian government, giant fireplace displays, fire-alarm like DIY video game music, 80s sing-alongs, and of course topped with a dash of sake, vodka, guava juice and ridiculous laughter. Yes, that pretty much sums up both my physical and mental state now.
But really, despite the complaints of the boredom of Toronto life, Toronto's beauty made me forget about that completely. Two weeks ago me and my friend walked to a street in the middle of a storm to find a paper shop where my friend's boyfriend had bought her a beautiful sheet of paper. Yes, in the middle of jumping across puddles and possible jaywalking, I was wondering why I was killing myself just to go to a paper shop, but then I noticed the quirky glass windows of houses that are starting to call for maintenance, the classical style of the gateway to an empty, lush forest of a park, and the perfect combination of the grey skies to the muddy dirty exteriors of shops compared with the cozy, carefully lighted interiors. Indeed, I had never been more enthralled by a rainy day.
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