Shovel it Forward

This video showed up on my facebook stream today, hashtagged shovelitforward.

I tend to let the videos in my stream roll without any sound for a few seconds before I decide if I want to watch it.  After the first 37 seconds of this ad, I turned up the volume and pressed restart. I instantly connected with the message in this Canadian Tire ad and then, as one inevitably does, I did a little search to see what else was out there on #shovelitforward.  I wanted to know who started the movement (it was the Greenfield Firefighters/Paramedics in Wisconsin). Canadian Tire was quick to make it a part of their latest  social media marketing campaign (“Shovelling your neighbour’s driveway is as Canadian as winter itself”).  Good on Canadian Tire for reacting so quickly – they’ve been leaving shovels with “Shovel it Forward” stickers on driveways and encouraging people to spread a little kindness through this act of community. Unsurprisingly, the movement is spreading fast. I bet that social media types will still be talking about this campaign later this year.

The story in the video resonated with me mostly because I’ve lived on a street where people had  no problem coming out to help a fellow neighbour clear their drive, particularly in the aftermath of a major snowstorm. In the winter of 2013, when the skies dumped great amounts of fresh white powder on our streets, those who had snowblowers, would trundle their blower over to a fellow neighbour’s drive to help get the job done faster. We carried our shovels over to our neighbour’s place – a woman who was new to home ownership in Canada that year – to help her out with an unfamiliar task. When our neighbour was out-of-town, we would take the time to clear his drive. Often, when we got home after a long snowy day, we would find that he had cleared ours. This was the norm the four plus years we lived on that street.


Getting a little help from a neighbour.

Until I moved to Canada, I never really understood all the work that went into preparing one’s home for winter (turn off all outdoor water mains, so the water does not freeze and crack your pipes, wrap fragile plants in burlap, service your heating system, caulk window and door seals to help keep your heating bills down, etc.). I knew even less about what it was like to deal with the aftermath of a snowstorm. I never realized that it could turn into an unplanned workout, a medical emergency or even lead to death. As someone who lived in the tropics, these were things that were completely outside my frame of reference.

The first time I had to clear snow at all was in December 2007, when Toronto and much of Southern Ontario was hit by a really bad storm. At this point, all I had to do was clear fresh, fluffy snow from my car and I delighted in doing it. This could not have prepared me for the herculean task of shifting the dense wet stuff from a 30m long driveway. One was a delight, the other a hardship. Having shovelled my own drive and knowing how difficult it can get, I see how reaching out to a neighbour and sharing this hardship can make for a strong community.

If you’re new to Canada (say in the last 25 years or so, 🙂 ), what was your first snow shovelling experience like?

Would you believe it’s Poutine Week?

Here’s a new discovery (for me anyway)…it’s Poutine week in Toronto and Montreal (Feb 1 – 7). Who would have thought that there would be an entire week devoted to savouring decadent grease soaked fries (fried in lard, I am told), topped with cheese curds, gravy and just about anything else you can imagine. A heart attack on a plate, poutine is Canada’s culinary offering to the world.

Fries, cheese curds and gravy anyone?

Fries, cheese curds and gravy anyone?

Those who love it, rave about it. But, it took me exactly 88 1/2 months to gather enough courage to try Poutine. Ok, so you might say that I’m a bit of a traditionalist when it comes to my food. Friends call me “picky”, “unadventurous”. The verdict: I liked it (I could push ‘like’ to ‘love’, if you twist my arm enough). A good poutine explodes with flavours in your mouth. Now that I’ve had my first, I think I’ll be checking out some Poutine hotspots before this week is out. There goes what little I have left of my waistline.

Durian. Try them the next time you're in MalaysiaDurian. Try one the next time you’re in Malaysia.

If there’s one local delight that could take an immigrant to Malaysia 88 1/2 months to try, I’ll say it’s the durian – a football sized thorny fruit that, when in season, engenders a ritualistic frenzy among many locals. If you happen to be in Malaysia during durian season, here’s what you do. You drive up to a road side fruit stall, squat in front of durians piled high, pick out ones that are ripe – the smellier they are, the better – hack into it and savour the delightful custardy flesh of the fruit. When sated, you pack a wicker basket full of durians into the boot of your car and head right home for another ritual eating session with the extended family, friends, or the folks who run the hotel that your staying at. I loved the durian and this ritual as a kid, but can’t endure its smell or taste as an adult. Because of its pungent, putrid smell (and, I’m being kind), durians are banned on Singapore’s subway system and my brother’s car. One is also banned from getting into his car, if they’ve just eaten a durian. Like the Poutine in Canada though, the durian is a must try for anyone visiting Malaysia.


Fitting Into Canada

It was easy. I didn’t expect it to be so, but it was.

Is it because Canada is made up of immigrant communities that are as varied and numbered as the nations that span the globe? Is it because one Canadian, regardless of their origin, enjoys the same rights and privileges as the next? Or is it just because most Canadians, by nature, are pre-disposed to being  warm, friendly, welcoming, inclusive, and non confrontational? Maybe it’s a combination of all these factors – I can’t say for sure. What I do know is that this is a society that’s easy to fit into.

Though I had a ‘place’ while I lived in Malaysia, I never fully belonged – I felt ‘second class’, to put it simply. The feeling is quite the opposite here.  In Canada, I know that I have as much of a chance to succeed as the next person, given the same set of opportunities. I know that the colour of my skin will not dictate my chances of earning a seat at a university, owning shares in a publicly listed company, or even my opportunity to hold the highest office of government, should I be so inclined. The economic pie is for everyone to enjoy, if they choose to participate. In Canada, I compete based on merit, while in Malaysia, a race-based quota system dictates my higher education and economic opportunities.

While Malaysia’s race based affirmative action policies might have had some merit in the early 70s as a means to calm racial tensions and foster economic equity between the races, it no longer serves Malaysia – not if it wants to be a successful multi-racial, multi-religious nation.

For a vibrant society to thrive, we must respect each other’s values, beliefs and practices without imposing it on others. In my short experience here (and I know nothing is perfect), Canada has been able to strike a good balance at preserving certain Canadian ‘values’ while welcoming the contributions of everyone.

What’s the secret, Canada?

I was into my first few days of being in Canada. The thermometer was sitting at 37 degrees C, but the weatherman said, “feels like 45 with the humidex”. It was the first time I’d ever noticed the temperature reported this way. I was used to a stock standard weather report: “hot and humid”, “rain”, “thunderstorms” – nothing too complicated. Oh, we might get the occasional air quality report, whenever a thick layer of haze blanketed the country, but otherwise, the actual temperature, or what it ‘feels like’ were inconsequential to most Malaysians. We generally knew what to expect – a torrential downpour in the late afternoon; hot and sticky the rest of the day. So, unlike Canadians, we paid little attention to the weather network. But the Canadian I moved here for, figured I would love the heat – after all, Kuala Lumpur sat just 2 degrees north of the equator, and before I experienced the brutal shock of a Canadian winter, he wanted me to know that Canada could feel just like home.

“You guys are crazy!” I said several times that day, as I dragged myself through the city, wilting with each step. “When it’s this hot, Malaysians (and most rational humans, for that matter), stay in the air-conditioned comfort of their homes, offices, cars or, the malls. But, all around me, Torontonians were basking in the ungodly heat. Looking back after eight cold, cold winters (where the temperatures hit -28 with the windchill, or worse on some days), I finally understood why.

We eventually made our way down to Harbourfront and found a spot on the patio of an Italian restaurant. While we waited for our tall glasses of something cool, I was struck by the scene at the table across from us. Some eight people sat around a couple of tables pulled up together, and I swear that no two looked to be of the same race or colour. Though this was just a small piece of Toronto, it was a microcosm of Canada – truly multi-cultural – and I loved it.

A few days later, we travelled to a small rural village four hours north of Toronto. It was distinctly ‘white’ and I stood out, or so I thought. I soon realized that it was just my mind racing ahead forming conclusions it was used to when placed in similar situations. In reality, not once was I made to feel like an outsider, regardless of where I went or who I met in that little village. This ‘inclusive’ experience has been consistent over the years – at school, work and play. I am just part of Canada’s mosaic of colour, and I have my place in this country.


The Canadian Flag Mosaic by Tim Van Horn

Like Canada, Malaysia is multicultural and diverse. We consider ourselves tolerant. We are rich in our culture and heritage and we celebrate our diversity with holidays to mark each cultural and religious festivity – Chinese New Year, Ramadhan, Aidil Adha (the Haj), Dewali, Christmas, New Years and much more in between. Yet, the colour of one’s skin, their religion and/or sexual orientation all play a significant part in Malaysia’s politics and how we live and work. So, behind the pomp of our festive celebrations, there are divides – some that run deep, and others that make me feel like I belong there less than I do here in Canada.

Undoubtedly, Malaysia is a tolerant nation when compared to many others where cultural or religious disagreements have led to great fissures in society. However, the undercurrents of dissatisfaction are strong, and it has always felt like things could quickly turn ugly at any point. Over the last few years, we’ve seen the country struggle even more with the challenges of its diversity. I believe Malaysia has yet to fully understand the true meaning of diversity, at least not in the way that Canada seems to. The land of my parents still has a long way to go to mature as a nation of many races, colours and creeds. Canada, on the other hand, has a lot to teach the world from this perspective.

We finished our drinks and found our way back to the car. With the air conditioning at full blast on that super hot day, we drove home. What I still don’t get is how Canadians consider +10 degrees C t-shirt weather.

Factoid: What unifies Canadians? The Weather. Or talking about it.

Welcome to Canada

When I finally stepped off the plane at YYZ (27 hours after take off), I was exhausted, but excited. I was at the start of something new. It’s one of the best places to be – the beginning. It’s the place where you’re often caught up in such a wide mix of emotions all at once, that the only thing you can do is take the next step and work through them all, one at a time. But I digress.

I funnelled my way  through the long lines to the immigration desk and dutifully presented my paperwork, all neatly organized in a clear plastic folder – I was not going to be caught out for missing any paperwork – you know what immigration officers can be like.  Paperwork cleared. The officer, much to my surprise, was pleasant (unlike stern-faced immigration officers the world over). He even smiled and asked if I had a good flight. “Long,” I said, trying to match his smile. “Welcome to Canada,” he added, and handed me my PR card and paperwork. I found my way to the baggage carousel, picked up my bags and walked out into Canada.

On the other side of the sliding doors, my husband greeted me with a single red rose and a copy of these two books.

How To Be A Canadian (Will Ferguson & Ian Ferguson); Why I Hate Canadians (Will Ferguson)

How To Be A Canadian (Will Ferguson & Ian Ferguson); Why I Hate Canadians (Will Ferguson)

Ahh…an instructional manual on How to be a Canadian (authors, Will Ferguson & Ian Ferguson). How useful, I thought.

I didn’t get the Why I Hate Canadians title tough (author, Will Ferguson). It kindda rubbed me the wrong way. Why should I hate Canadians? I don’t want to hate Canadians… I just got here! I gave my husband a slight sideways glance, wondering what he was thinking (or even up to) giving me this book.

But, let me tell you…both books are hilarious and definitely worth a read. The best part: it only gets funnier once you’ve stayed awhile. I think Immigration Canada should be handing these out with their Welcome Packages.

PS: I started with Part 4 of Why I Hate Canadians – Sex in a Canoe and Other Delusions. With a title like that, it was hard to resist. 🙂