I remember my first Canadian snowstorm. It was incredible but brutal in every sense of the word. 

Before then, I didn’t understand why everyone was so fascinated by the weather. The weather, the weather and weather was all I heard and still hear about. 

I wonder why Canadians love the weather so much. We don’t talk about the weather where I come from. I used to think people were unnecessarily obsessed with the weather until I witnessed my very first snowstorm. 

The rookie in me went out that day without checking the weather forecast. I went to work and noticed how everyone rushed home. I seemed like a silent rule. Everyone knew something I didn’t, but I told myself, “It couldn’t possibly be that bad.”

Well, it was. I went out. Everything was white and surprisingly beautiful. It reminded me of how our fears and things we perceive as fearful have their own inherent beauty. 

I was happy. I genuinely didn’t understand why everyone left early. But I did when I waited for the bus, and none showed up. 

At that point, I started to panic. The bus times kept changing. Vehicles were struggling to move. I started to shiver and somehow made it home after a gruesome ordeal. 

Since that day, I started checking the weather. I understood people’s obsession and would even join weather conversations whenever people talk. 

Recently, we had another snowstorm in my city. Everyone was bundled and hooded up, as you’d expect.

But I wasn’t.

I was carrying an umbrella.  

I always wondered why people don’t use umbrellas when it snows. I looked around and felt like an outlier, a pariah, someone who absurdly had an item that wasn’t weather worthy. But it made sense to me. I ignored my thoughts and told myself that no one really cared about my umbrella. I thought it was functional and it gave a lot of coverage.  Moreover, it looked like everyone was battling with the snow storm.

I started to bask in my “umbrella on a snowy day” moment, convincing myself that it wasn’t awkward. And then, in a split second of happiness, I found an ally.

It was another person using an umbrella! I was so excited and would have walked up to the person, but the slushy ground wouldn’t let me. 

I am not sure if my twin umbrella person even noticed me, but I felt seen at that moment. I got to the train station, and it suddenly clicked.

Since moving to Canada, I received unsolicited advice from people who told me to fit in. 

But what exactly am I fitting into? I am an African with a very beautiful black chocolate skin color. I adorn my scarf as my crown to show my faith. My voice and accent reflect my history and roots. How exactly can I fit in? If anything, my attributes make me stand out. 

Perhaps, I was unconsciously trying to fit in on that snowstorm day. Everyone around was wearing hooded winter jackets which made a lot of sense.

But I wasn’t. And even though I was comfortable with my umbrella, I was excited when I found someone else like me. It was a silent whisper of support and allyship. 

The second umbrella stranger probably never knew what they did by choosing to go out with an umbrella on a snowy day. But isn’t it incredible and fascinating? We move around the world oblivious to whose life we touch or impress by our actions or inactions. 

It was a silent and powerful reminder.

That being true to who we are is non-negotiable because someone somewhere might be standing in the snow and looking for proof that they aren’t alone.