Childhood is slipping through my fingers

I just spent my last real "weekend" of childhood activities. For the past three years, I have been going to my best friend's second home in Ingersoll, ON. This little oasis in a small town with people I adore has been somewhere I escaped to on random weekends to enjoy fine china, good tea, and truly relax. I think I just spent my last weekend there without being an adult, and things feel a bit surreal. Not only did this weekend entail the last one-on-one moments with someone dearer than most to me for months, but it was also my last chance to breathe before I move.

Ella and I arrived in Ingersoll fairly late and walked into the gorgeous foyer with far too many bags in hand. Upon entry, warm air filtered throughout the space to greet us. The iconic doorbell installed by the ever-talented Kim jingled, and we quickly settled ourselves. The first thing we did was turn on the fans in our rooms, as this gorgeous Victorian, completed in 1876, does not possess air conditioning. At least Ravel's Une barque sur l'océan was our soundtrack to the heat. We went our separate ways and got ready for the day ahead.

the upper sunroom

In the morning, with not a crumb to be found in the home (besides the jar of Grillos Pickles that did not last but three days), we set off to the small cafe in town. We both got chocolately strawberry waffles and admired the sealing while eavesdropping on some very loud conversation between two real estate brokers. Ella and I saved our interesting conversation for later times, and shared small talk, as I think we were both more interested in hearing her talk about how their office was the nicest in town, while he replied, expressing interest in the business. We swiftly moved to get groceries at the supermarket, for a meal I was anxious to prepare.

We bought seasoning, fresh herbs, garlic, two strip loins, four potatoes, a package of heirloom carrots, and a massive Spanish onion, along with a couple of other essentials. My favourite thing about coming to stay at the Charles Kennedy House in Ingersoll is enjoying its grandeur. You see, this house would have led Ingersollian Society in the 19th century, as it was home to a doctor and his family. In the dining room, I enjoy setting the table with the fine china and sterling silverware, accompanied by crystal glasses. Eating from these, you appreciate what the finer things in life feel like (without paying what the Ritz or Shangri-La will charge you). I also feel a sense of pride, having learned how to properly set a table.

the splendid, yet homey tablescape (trust me, that table has seen far more elaborate)

I think I scared myself half to death while cooking, because I, not paying attention to instructions, stuck butter in the searing hot stainless steel pan instead of canola oil. The smoke shot up from the pan and filled the house faster than I could think. Regardless, I burnt the pan, had to wait, and restart the heating of it. Oh well, it didn't matter all that much because, for my first steak, I cooked it to a perfect medium rare with only one or two burnt crispy bits! (Ps. Kim, I scrubbed as hard as I could when washing it!!!)

I tried to plate it, but it looks mediocre

This first beautiful day of relaxation in Ingersoll was complete with my annual screening of Call Me By Your Name, an incredibly personal film that makes me cry every time. Unfortunately, I cannot control my emotions while I watch this stupid movie, because whether I like it or not, I feel its plot deep in me, and deep in the people around me. Chalamet and Hammer (Hammer cancelled?) deliver such raw and real portrayals of the homosexual condition and its plights that I cannot help but feel sorry for them while watching. Luca Guadagnino continues to impress me with everything he does, including Queer, and Challengers. I am excited to see his remake of American Psycho as well, though I fear the original film will not be topped. I digress.

Summer 2025

I ate like a pig that night, consuming a pint of Häagen-Dazs peanut butter chocolate ice cream (which was developed in the Bronx and isn't even a German company). Sometimes self-control evades me when a velvety scoop of dairy is in front of me.

The next day, Ella and I made our way into London to shop. We did some last-minute dorm shopping, as well as window shopping, of course. She and I bought matching plates and bowls with beautiful artwork on them for our dorms. Mine have hydrangeas on them. A list of what I bought:

• Green chinos (GAP)

• Socks and a Monet shirt (H&M)

• Three oil blends (Saje)

• A large classic hand cream (L'Occitane en Provence)

• The bowls (Marshalls)

Overall, I got some needs and some wants. Yes, I could have gotten a plate for $4 at Dollarama, but would it be hefty or pretty? No! So I paid for it, and do not regret it. If I am going to keep my boring hotel room dormitory, I need to do something me to it. After all of this shopping, the fiasco began.

Ella and I trekked across London for AYCE Sushi. We entered this nice place (that had a suspect amount of exotic fish) and began ordering. Fiasco #1:

We got into an argument about semantics, and how I told her I didn't want a California roll unravelled (apparently "that's all you" does not mean "I don't want to eat that"), fuelled by my anxiety of being charged per piece we didn't eat. She and I had a good laugh about that one, and continued our meal until fiasco #2:

Why was my linen shirt blue all of a sudden? The GAP bag. Dearest GAP, your clothes are decent, but why do your bags spread their blue dust/painty stuffs faster than rats spread the black death? My favourite linen shirt looked as if Papa Smurf had been smeared all over it. I would recommend making a bag that does not turn me into the next cast member of the Blue Man Group.

Fiasco #3: A case of the giggles broke out, and I could not stop laughing. Then, a dirty spoon, and we were done for the evening. Ella and I were utterly exhausted. So, we headed back to Ingersoll while sharing a Strawb Aç Lem, no inclu, ex i, ex lem, li bai, ex shake (I have an addihction). When we returned, we played some sort of card game in which she and I asked each other some outlandish questions. Some of the answers were of no shock to either of us, but we certainly learned more about each other.

Upon our retirement to bed, neither of us lost energy or felt able to sleep. Then, lightning struck and thunder sounded. Ella and I, both scardy cats, joined each other in comfort. Then, like the young-hearted new adults we were, got even more scared as a white van pulled to the front of the house. Ella's family rents their side room to a contracting company; however, she and I were dumbfounded to hear one of the employees pull up at 01:00. Nothing interesting happened. The gentleman came, and the gentleman left. Ella and I both thought we might be the next subject of some true crime podcast, but this was not the case (hurray!).

the study

The next morning, we left Ingersoll swiftly and headed home, hopefully not forgetting anything. On the drive home, it really hit me. This was the last time I'd get to spend with her before we set off for University. We, in a short time, would be 550Km apart for the greater part of a year, only having FaceTime, and no way to just burst through each other's doors with our problems or good news. There will be no spontaneous plans or impromptu hangouts any longer. We are now separated by five centuries of rail... This will be the case with so many friends of mine.

After returning home, I said goodbye to another close friend. Since the third grade, Luka and I were inseparable. In life, it is important to accept that things change. People change, lives change, and our relationships change. A continuous cycle of development entraps us all. At the end of the day, he and I are still best friends and could tell each other anything. Cruising around in his Miata, we chatted about our memories and our futures. Then, like that, he dropped me in my driveway, hugged me, and in two days, is setting off across the continent to British Columbia on a road trip (in that tiny Miata, nonetheless!).

where'd all the time go?

So now, here I am. In nine days, the car will be packed, my room will be my sister's, and I will be en route to La Cit. It will be four in the morning, and I'll kiss my dog goodbye. Hopefully, I'll have many years left, but you know bulldogs. It'll be the last time that my house is truly my home. This is not true in the sense of family, or love, not at all. I am loved, and I love my family so much. I mean this in the physical sense. I will not have a bedroom, but will be in a guest room. I will be a temporary resident, not a long-term tenant. Life moves forward, and though Frida and Agnetha make me cry with Slipping Through My Fingers, we move with it.