Rinkside Remedy

The campus halls were unusually silent as I stepped out of my last class for the day. I adjusted my scarf against the cold and mentally replayed the train wreck that had been our group presentation earlier.

To say my groupmates were useless would be an understatement. They were practically ghosts, never showing up to class, rarely answering messages, and contributing absolutely nothing to the project. I had done everything. I stayed up late making the slides, writing the report, gave them detailed notes on how to answer each question, even walked them through the material days before the presentation. Instructing them: At least pretend you know what you're talking about.

But when the professor started asking questions, it became painfully clear they hadn't even glanced at them. Their blank stares and stammered, incoherent answers were enough to make me want to fight someone.

Of course, the professor wasn't impressed. She gave us a grade that reflected their lack of effort, but because it was a group grade, it dragged me down too. I clenched my fists at the thought. I'd worked my ass off for that project, and they'd just stood there like mannequins.

And the worst part? I couldn't even argue for a better grade because, as the professor put it, "In the real world, do you get to choose your coworkers?" She wanted us to work it out ourselves. But how could I, when my groupmates were basically morons?

By the time I reached the bus stop, I was seething. The winter air stings at my face, and I shuffled from foot to foot to keep myself warm. I checked the transit app on my phone for the next bus schedule. Ten minutes late. Of course.

I let out a frustrated sigh. The TTC was never reliable when you needed it most. The wind picked up, slicing through my coat, and I wrapped my scarf tighter. I stood at the stop, my hands jammed deep into the pockets of my jacket, trying to ignore the cold.

A bus finally appeared in the distance, and for a moment, it lifted my spirits. But as it got closer, my stomach sank. It didn't even slow down. It just whizzed right past me. Full.

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath. The cold was unbearable, but it wasn't just the weather that's making me suffer. It was everything.

I glanced around, hoping another bus would appear soon. Then, as if to rub salt in the wound, a  guy jogged past me. In shorts.

Shorts? In this weather?

"Seriously?" I muttered, the sight irritating me even more. I couldn't even process it. He looked like he was thriving, while I was freezing my toes off. Life felt like a cosmic joke sometimes.

Eventually, another bus arrived, and I squeezed onto it, standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers. The heat inside was a small comfort, but my mood stayed sour especially since the bus stinks as usual.

When I got home, the silence hit me hard. My roommates were probably in their rooms, but it was as if they didn't exist. We rarely crossed paths, and when we did, it was just nods and mumbled greetings.

I needed to vent, but the solitude was suffocating. I couldn't even call my family or friends, not with the twelve hour time difference, they'd still be asleep. I dropped my bag on the floor and collapsed on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The familiar ache of loneliness crept in, and my thoughts spiraled.

Why the hell did I even come here? I wondered for the millionth time. Why Canada? Why this struggle?

I am paying three times the tuition fees, there is growing animosity towards immigrants, and they are changing the immigration rules to make it harder for us to stay.

But I had my reasons. I reminded myself of that. I once had my dreams, hopes, and a determination to seek out a better future. Yet in moments like this, when everything felt overwhelming, those reasons seemed so small.

My stomach growled, snapping me out of my thoughts. I walked into the kitchen, opening cupboards with little expectation. A pack of instant noodles sat on the shelf, and I sighed. It was just a cheap, tasteless way to fill the emptiness in my stomach and the only thing I could afford until my paycheck next week.

I boiled water, the sound filling the empty apartment. I stared at the bowl, stirring the noodles absently. It was the same damn routine every day: school, work, loneliness, barely scraping by. I was so tired of the endless struggle, the hopelessness, the uncertainty. It was suffocating.

Just as I was about to drown in my thoughts, my phone buzzed on the counter.

I grabbed it, half expecting it to be another spam email. Instead, the subject line caught my eye: "Toronto Renegades Onboarding – Document Request."

My heart skipped a beat. I opened the email, reading it quickly. They were asking for my study permit, SIN, and other details to finalize my new job.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the screen. Finally. A job. A real job. It was like a spark of hope in the darkness.

I thought of my grandmother, her kind eyes and her words echoing in my mind: "If you believe in something, just keep moving, apo, and I will be there with you."

I smiled softly. Maybe she was right. Maybe it would all work out.

As I sat down with my bowl of instant noodles, I felt something I hadn't in a long time. Hope. Life wasn't easy, but at least, for now, it felt like I could keep going.

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A/N: "Apo" is a term of endearment used by grandparents to refer to their grandchildren.
TTC- Toronto Transit Commission
SIN- Social Insurance Number

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