"My time here in Montreal is masked with so many more happy memories that I seem to have forgotten how it started, that first year I moved here, and how alone I felt. And when it rushes back to me, it awakens bad, dark memories.  

I moved to Montreal in September 2012, after spending months trying to find myself. This exhausting internal journey left me tired, and even more lost and vulnerable. I moved, with encouragements from my father, thinking Montreal will be the city where I will find myself, discover a passion, and be driven to pursue it. Eventually, it worked out well but these first, interminable minutes in the city left a bitter taste in me. As soon I stepped out of that plane, a feeling came rushing to me: that I was not going to be happy here.

I remember the first thing I did was go to IKEA to furnish my room. I chose only dark furniture — maybe as an implicit reflection of my inner feelings. Even as I was walking the busy streets of the city, filled with people, I felt alone and sad. 
I came with the plan to study at Université de Montréal. School started the day after my mom had come to visit my brother and I. That same night, I burned my kitchen while cooking. My computer crashed: sign #1 I should not be here.

Somehow though, I was excited by the idea of going to a new school and meeting new people, and more specifically, I was excited to become someone else, someone new, someone no one knew. I spent my whole education in the same establishment, in a small town where everyone knew me and my family. There wasn’t a place to hide. I thought Montreal would be my escape, and Université de Montreal the sanctuary to the new me — an improved and controlled version of myself. And that was the problem. I thought I would look stylish with the new clothes my mom bought me, cool with the simple bedroom, and hipster with that new backpack I didn’t need. 
By trying to become someone else, I lost who I was, and it came slapping me in the face not too long after. The week after school started, I was mugged in the streets of the city and my brand new, cool, and stylish iPhone was stolen: sign #2 I should not be here.

School was not easy. I hated my first class, and my second ... and my third. Already, I was trying to find an escape, another program to take, another school to go to, or even another country. I remember feeling so down I didn’t have the charge to speak to anyone. The commute in the metro was long and uncomfortable. The living situation at home were difficult and … extremely uncomfortable. I had no friends, Skype was not powerful enough to keep contact with my Swiss friends. Although I very silently started to socialize with new people, I had lost who I was by trying to be somebody else. I had no sense of me. Alone and lost, I felt incapable to face anything, so I hid. I hid on my couch, watching How I Met Your Mother again and again on Netflix, eating Nutella sandwiches every day for every meal. Escaping the outside as much as I could. Dragging myself to school and running away back at the end of these long, painful days  to my couch, with my Nutella and my show.

Came Christmas when I finally went back home to celebrate. I was terrified of the idea of facing my father. I told him I failed in finding what made me happy. I was so scared that I fell sick on the plane. It was the longest and worst 8 hours of life, feeling like I was emptying myself of the little bits left of me. Looking back, I was emptying my negativity and darkness during those same 8 hours. In Geneva, I decided I could not go back in Montreal and to my couch, go back to eating Nutella everyday, go back to this solitude. I decided I had to make a change, and I did. I found a plan. Something that motivated me, something to work towards, a goal to achieve. Going to McGill was the goal, and I fought for it — and boy I fought hard. 

I came back and studied extremely hard to get excellent grades. Threw away the Nutella and replaced it with good, healthy meals. Replaced my show with documentaries about film history. I joined a gym and lost the fat I had gained. I applied to McGill and got rejected once because of my English. But I wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer so I took another test, went to the admission office with the results, and demanded re-consideration of my admission. They did. 

I fought every day and used every waking minute to pursue my goal. After months of hard work, I got accepted for the fall 2013 semester. I cried. Not because I got in, but because I realized I was going through a very dark time. A silent, camouflaged depression that I overcame. I was free, and finally able to breathe, so I cried. My love for Montreal began that day as well."