Dear Quebec,
Where do I begin? I can still
remember a time (or at least, I think I can…It all seems so very long ago) When
you seemed like a good, caring partner. I grew up with you; loving you. I loved
your history; despite your baggage (no one is perfect). Every now and again,
you would go and do something stupid or insensitive, but I always forgave you.
You and I, after all, were like one. You were my everything…quite literally. I breathed
the same air your breathed, walked your streets (which were bumpy at times, but
every relationship has its rocky patches). You, dear friend, were home to me.
Then, the referendum came and
went, and you wanted to divorce the rest of our Canadian family. That is when
you changed, in my eyes. You began trying to control me; telling me what I
could and could not say. You started trying to choose for me which language I spoke.
I tried to reason with you, we all did. But you wouldn't listen; pressing on
with full force…Against me. Against everyone who helped build you. Against everyone
who loved you and cared about your well-being. You thought you knew what was
best for me, so much so; you thought you
could control me, and morph me in such a way that I would become silent and
voiceless and would eventually surrender; reluctantly crawling into the cookie-cutter
mold you demanded I fit into.
Dear friend, you were mistaken.
For, as much as I still consider you home, I feel as though we are no longer
one. I do not proudly use your name when I speak of where I’m from; I use my
maiden name; Canada, when I tell the story of my home, for you have become an embarrassment.
You have chased away so many of the family that we once shared. You have turned
your back on those who built you, and those who stood by you. And although it
pains me to see you so selfish, so hateful, and so shameful, I still try every
day to change you…into who I once thought I knew…into who I know you can
be. And despite the fact that your name
is still written on my heart, I will fight you if I have to. I will not let you
become an even more callous monster. I will not rest until you see the wrong in
who you have become.
Do not test me, old friend, for I
no longer love you blindly, and I am no longer so young, and naïve that I am so
easily distracted by your beautiful landscape. The air we once shared, makes me
choke, and your streets no longer welcome me…as you've changed so many of their
names, that I can barely find my way anymore. (I suppose they didn't fit into
your mold of what you think we should be, either.)
Be forewarned, old friend, I will not back
down, and loving you does not mean that I will relinquish who I am. Loving you does not mean I cannot despise
parts of you. I can stand with you and against you at the same time. Walking away
is easy…it’s standing still, that is hard.
