Canada Day is almost here. Flags are starting to appear along the streets, and the summer heat has settled over Peterborough. It feels strange to stand in this weather and remember that only a few months ago I was trying to get through my first Canadian winter, cold, nervous, and very unsure of myself.
I came to Peterborough in late December to begin my master's degree at Trent University. Back then, Peterborough was mostly a name on my admission letter. I knew the university. I knew the address I was supposed to go to. I did not know what daily life here would feel like.
My first memory of Canada is from Christmas Eve. I landed at Pearson Airport exhausted and anxious, expecting the border process to be stiff and impersonal. Instead, the officer asked about my studies and my plans with a kindness I had not expected. Later, on the shuttle to Peterborough, the driver talked about the Trent-Severn Waterway and what it feels like to start over somewhere new. I was still a stranger, but the day felt less lonely than I had prepared myself for.
That same feeling kept showing up in ordinary places. At Lansdowne Place, bank staff spent nearly an hour helping me figure things out even though I did not yet have much local record. When I set up a phone plan, the staff looked for a cheaper option instead of pushing the easiest one. In shops and grocery stores, people were patient when I did not know how things worked. Nobody made a big speech about kindness. They just helped.
I also began going to church on Sunday mornings, first at Emmanuel United on George Street and later at Murray Street Baptist. As a young student from East Asia sitting among mostly older residents, I expected to feel out of place. Instead, people came over after the service to shake my hand, ask my name, and welcome me back. It was simple, but it meant a lot.
Living among such neighbors has quietly reshaped my own outlook. Seeing how naturally people here care for one another, I found myself wanting to return that warmth in small, quiet ways—whether it was holding open a heavy door to ask a tearful stranger if they needed help, or keeping change in my pocket for our neighbors in need during my morning runs along Aylmer, George, and Hunter streets. It is not about grand gestures, but simply a quiet reflection of the same unsolicited kindness Peterborough first showed me when I was a stranger.
Tomorrow, on Canada Day, I want to say thank you. Thank you to Peterborough for the winter greetings, the patient shop staff, the church handshakes, and the small acts of help that made this town feel less unfamiliar. And thank you to the Canadians I have met so far, who have taught me that welcome does not always need big words. Sometimes it is just time, patience, and the willingness to treat a stranger like a neighbor.