I’m Still Me

12 May

Nine months ago: I’m leaving my country; I’m feeling loved by all my friends and family as I’m hugged and told I’ll be missed.

“And Maiya,” my close friends say to me as we utter our last goodbyes.

“Yes…” I say, thinking how lucky I am to have such sweet friends.

“Don’t come back with a fake British accent or I’ll slap you.”

Strangely, that’s a sentiment I heard a couple times. I don’t know why.

Nine months later, I’m still me. I’ll admit I’ve lost a bit of that caustic, sarcastic, cynical edge—for which I’ve taken a bit of flack—but I’m still me.

Here are the reasons why:

  • I’m still a klutz: I still  bump into my desk every day at work, knock over my tea on a regular basis, and occasionally melt plastic utensils on the oven, which I forget to turn off
  • I’m still as morose as ever: I tell everyone how lovely the guys in my office cafeteria are but I choose the café across the street for my coffee, so I don’t have to suffer the friendly nattering
  • I’m still whining about the weather: I’ve just substituted snow for rain
  • I’m still embarrassing myself on a regular basis: regularly trip on the sidewalks (middle of pavement, not cracks) and fell asleep at work the other day—had to be awoken by boss
  • I’m still writing: hence this blog

And…I still have a Canadian accent (albeit one that is regularly mistaken for American)


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