I was 14 when I first realized Toronto was the only place I wanted to live.
My sister was a student at Ryerson, and my parents let me ride the train with a family friend who ensured my safe arrival at my sister’s dorm. I spent the weekend exploring the city with her and her friends, rejuvenated by the feeling of independence as I rode the TTC, and mesmerized by the wide variety of people I saw walking down the street, marching to the beat of their own drum, without anyone else batting an eye at them.