Union Station

I had a very strange encounter today.

I work at Union Station, and as receptionist I deal with a lot of interesting questions. Today, I had a middle-aged Mexican woman come up to my desk with a letter.

The letter was hand-written, neat and she wished to address it to the 'big boss'. I gave her our Director's name, and she proceeded to tell me (in difficult English) how she had been in Toronto since before I was born and had great respect for the city.

The letter, which I read as I made a copy for her on our machine, was written in a poetic English that was hard to follow. It is clear that she was trying to make her emotions as strong as possible in a language not her own. She wrote that she cleaned up a bench which someone had spilled food and drink over, and that she was humbly asking for... I'm not sure. Respect? Acknowledgement? Support? It was so unclear, so erroneous. But through the message and through speaking with her, I had the impression that she was humbly asking for a "You're welcome." She obviously loves the building, and she travels through it on the GO train often. As she left, she mentioned that she was going to eat lunch at Mimico, because to her it felt like the 'border of Toronto'. Like Tijuana, she said.

It's hard for me to listen to someone whose English isn't great. Hard because I know they wish to be clearer, but cannot. And hard because I cannot help them express themselves but only thank them for trying.

There's a lot more to this city than I could have imagined.

Just call it the CN Tower of Babel

While on the way to lunch with a friend, I realized one of the things about Toronto that makes me smile.

Sitting on the subway, I'm aware of all the conversations around me. It makes me smile when I realize that I'm listening to at least two different languages. Today it was either Japanese or Korean, and an Eastern European language. And with my opened eyes and ears, I made sure to note this rare Toronto moment. Sitting on a subway in Paris or Barcelona - you rarely hear anything more than French or Spanish. Whether sitting on a subway or walking down a street in Toronto, you think nothing of hearing three different languages in passing.

I started thinking about my day, and how my breakfast at Croissant Tree was ordered after a man speaking Mandarin. Being in Union Station on a regular basis, I heard the VIA employees rambling on in French as they passed by. And my workplace is full of Italians and Portuguese who will chatter and natter on without thinking anything of it. And I love it.