The decision to move to Canada probably started many years ago without my even realizing it. Looking back, I’ve always been a nomad, independently chasing my dreams within my home country—the Philippines, a nation of 7,641 islands.
I was 19 when I decided to leave my hometown and explore life beyond my comfort zone. In another province, 1,048 kilometres away, I took the criminologist licensure examination to pursue my dream of becoming a police officer. And during this time, while I was immersed in my studies, one of my lecturers offered me a teaching job, empowering me with the words: “You know how to simplify the concepts… you can teach.”
Fast forward: I spend 13 years teaching as a criminal justice professor, I complete my master’s degree and doctorate to pursue the highest education possible in criminology. I move to four different cities alone, assimilate into other cultures and learn new languages—different languages, because my home country has 210 dialects. Back home, moving just two hours away from one city to another often meant facing an entirely new language barrier, making every move both a challenge and an opportunity for growth.
After completing my doctorate with the highest honours, I assumed life would be easier with executive-level education, but that was probably one of my biggest mistakes. Life got busier. I taught at three schools, advised six criminology researchers, and the work-life balance I had dreamed of seemed so far away. I wanted to stop, take things slowly, travel abroad, and see what life looked like from afar.
But then my brother was hospitalized for a week; public hospitals were full, and private hospitals were the only option. My savings were wiped away in the blink of an eye. And while I tried applying for an executive position, I was only met with rejection as the other applicant was male. Despite not having completed a PhD—the primary qualification—he was perceived as a better leader due to toxic masculinity embedded in the workplace culture.
I found myself wanting a break from teaching to save my sanity. So when I got married and the conversation about moving to another country came up, I simply said, “Sure, let’s do it.”
Taking the leap
After submitting my resignation letters, I felt a fleeting moment of freedom at the thought of starting something new. Leaving my friends and family behind was nothing unfamiliar for me—I had already been following wherever my job took me across the archipelago for 13 years. But, reminded of the words my mom said to me—“I raised you to be brave… but I never thought you would be so brave that you’d only visit me once a year”—it was entirely expected that when I told her I was moving to Canada, she smiled and said, “So, no visit once a year now?”
We considered several countries, but Canada had the most straightforward student-visa application process. There were many resources online, along with thousands of vloggers documenting their journeys. When it came to choosing a city, Victoria topped the list when we Googled “warmest place in Canada.” Camosun College was not initially my top choice, but their international counsellor, who responded quickly to inquiries, made all the difference. Camosun felt welcoming.
In the summer of 2023, we finally boarded the plane to start our new beginning. I knew it wouldn’t be easy—life rarely gets easier, we just grow stronger.
A world of surprises
I knew deer only from Christmas fiction and songs, but there it was, right in front of me: a real deer, standing at a pedestrian crossing on a highway—the first of many culture shocks I would experience.
Leaving buses, I noticed people saying “thank you” before getting off. I was confused—should we say it too? Was it mandatory? The bus driver even responded with “Have a good day!” That level of courtesy was something I had never experienced back home.
Drinking water straight from the tap was another challenge. My brain was conditioned to believe that one sip could result in an instant trip to the hospital. Back home, the water-purification industry is a booming business and will likely remain that way for years to come. Memories of budgeting my salary to buy filtered water during my early working life revealed to me how fortunate I was to be in a country where I had access to clean water.
One of my first connections in Victoria was through the Victoria Filipino Canadian Association, which arranged a Filipino summer picnic at Beckwith Park, where I was happy to see people from my country and enjoy familiar foods like chicken adobo and pancit. It was also my first time using a public washroom that provided free sanitary products. I took a picture and showed it to my friend back home, who was just as shocked as me—these are small reminders of what people often take for granted. This country offers services that are considered rights for many, but back home, they are seen as privileges. There are tourist spots in the Philippines where you literally have to pay for washrooms, especially in public parks.
Missing home, finding my place
Since I was used to being away from my family, homesickness did not hit me until a few months later. I remember passing by St. Andrew’s Cathedral and hearing a Filipino Christmas song—it made my eyes well up with tears. I finally realized how much I missed my country: the way people get excited for the holidays, the kids singing Christmas songs on the streets, and how the season brings hope for the new year. It was my first Christmas away from home, and I was studying while working three jobs at the same time—two on campus, since my visa allowed unlimited hours within the campus, and one in a local bookstore. We didn’t do anything special for the holidays. New Year’s came and went with no grand fireworks. New Year’s Eve was silent, just another day, unlike the grand celebrations back home.
Despite this, Canada is incredibly diverse, and it was comforting to know that many people around me were also new to this country. As someone who had experienced discrimination in my home country due to different languages and dialects, I was familiar with the fear of being an outsider. I thought English was the only common language here, but I was pleasantly surprised when I became active in the Filipino community centre and found myself surrounded by fellow Filipinos, all speaking different dialects. It was reassuring to be in a room where three dialects were being spoken simultaneously—and I could understand all of them. It felt like home. The years I spent moving around the Philippines finally paid off, unexpectedly.
It amazed me how the centre, established by volunteers in 1991, had grown into a solid community. The Bayanihan Community Centre in Victoria was named after the Filipino tradition of bayanihan, which means helping each other. This tradition comes from an old practice where neighbours would lift and carry an entire house to help a family move. Many rural homes in the Philippines are made of bamboo, wood, and nipa palm, making them light and easy to relocate when needed. The centre was living proof of our collectivist culture—the inclination to form groups, organize events for the common good, cook food, and share meals while reminiscing about life back in the Philippines.
It made me consider that if these people made it, if they were able to succeed in this country, then maybe I had a chance too. Even now, I look forward to visiting the centre, knowing that someone will surely ask, Kumain ka na? May pagkain pa diyan, which means, “Have you eaten? There’s food over there.” A small gesture, a large embrace.
Work, friends, and growth
I was comfortable speaking English until I realized that conversational English was entirely different. At first, it was difficult to translate my thoughts and keep a conversation flowing. To overcome this, I volunteered at numerous events while waiting for classes to start. I signed up for whatever was available; my first volunteer role was as a traffic enforcer along Belleville Street during the Tour de Victoria cycling event. That experience taught me a valuable lesson—always check first before signing up. I didn’t expect to direct traffic without knowing the traffic rules.
Once school began, I accepted a position with the Camosun College Student Society (CCSS), which gave me the opportunity to connect with students and form new friendships. At Camosun, it was a blessing to be in a diverse group where we could ask questions without fear of judgment.
I also fulfilled my dream of working in a bookstore; I worked alone, preparing hundreds of items to be sold every day, finding new homes for old books. My grades were good; work was fun. I was living the good life.
But I had to leave that job when I was accepted for a co-op position with the British Columbia Public Service under the Ministry of Government Communications and Public Engagement (GCPE) as an HR assistant. The interview was challenging, but the support from the Camosun Career Lab was paramount. I booked an interview practice session, which was so exhausting that the real interview felt 100 times easier. Even now, I am convinced that I wouldn’t have gotten that job without the mock interview.
With the GCPE team, I was able to comfortably discover my limits and boundaries. Based on my experience back home, situations where I’ve been required to extend a deadline would have led to a memo or indirect blame on the employee. Whereas a new workplace culture could have been daunting, I learned to accept seeking help not as a weakness but as a strength.
I was also elected as the CCSS sustainability director. I was afraid of losing, so I didn’t print any campaign materials or post on social media. I figured that if I lost, at least only a few people would know about it; that would make it easier to accept. I only reached out to close friends to vote for me, and I was surprised when a friend from a different country created a campaign poster for me and shared it on Instagram. That moment already felt like a huge win.
Fortunately, I won the election and was given the opportunity to organize sustainability events, expand my network, and provide social spaces where people could connect while also helping the environment.
Reviving the Muslim Student Alliance at Camosun was also one of my projects; receiving a Camosun international student scholarship as a reward for my good grades and volunteer work was another highlight. As well, I was accepted to participate in two major projects involving women and leadership with a non-profit organization, where I presented research results related to immigrants.
By December last year, I reflected on all the milestones I had reached in such a short time, made possible by the support I received and by the work cultures I was lucky enough to find myself in. I was in a workplace where receiving comments like “You look darker today” didn’t exist and I was in one that didn’t require me to appear a particular way.
I felt confident in my path and in my environment—working hard felt like it was finally paying off.
Blending cultures and blending in
Moving to Canada made me proud to represent my Filipino heritage, but it also humbled me to be part of the Canadian mosaic, where culture is shared. I remember asking my neighbour’s permission the first time we had karaoke in our apartment, offering Filipino food in exchange, which they happily accepted.
We participated in new celebrations, such as Halloween traditions, which I had never experienced before. Back home, Halloween was more about commemorating loved ones who had passed away. We would visit cemeteries, cook their favourite foods, and share memories of them. So, don’t blame me that I first assumed that wearing costumes or trick-and-treating would feel weird. Did I ever have that wrong. On Halloween, I begged a friend to let me join her son for trick-or-treating. That night was unforgettable. The excitement of waiting for people to open their doors and hand out candy, the adorable costumes, and the happiness on people’s faces was absolute bliss. I regretted not having this experience as a child.
Perhaps one of the greatest lessons I learned in Canada is how easy it is to say sorry; thank you; have a great day. Words are powerful, and I hope people find comfort in hearing them. Because I won’t ever get tired of saying “thank you” to bus drivers and them responding with a “have a great day!”
Looking back, moving forward
When I was invited to share my story, I was clear that I wouldn’t write about my struggles but rather my growth. Maybe it’s because the challenges I encountered here were nothing compared to the hardships back home, where I constantly felt division between the rich and the poor, where even basic human rights come at a price. I will forever be grateful for all that this country has provided for an outsider like me.
Looking back, every choice I made, every risk, challenge, and unexpected turn led me here. Canada was never part of my plan, but it became where I rediscovered myself. Moving here isn’t just about adjusting to a new life; it’s about letting go of who I am and making space for who I can become.
I still miss home, but I’ve also built a new home here through the friendships I’ve made, the small wins that remind me I’m on the right track, and the moments of kindness I see every day.
For anyone thinking about making the big move, it won’t be easy, but you’ll be stronger than you ever thought possible. Keep your heart open, and you’ll realize that home isn’t just a place—it’s something you carry with you.