Canada is nice.

Canada is pretty, and nice, and clean. I walked to the Prime Minister's house today, but he wasn't home. I like having work meetings in fair-trade coffee houses, and seeing leaflets for African dance and drumming classes (I start Tuesdays). I like hearing people speak French as they pass by Parliament Hill. Some of new coworkers make me laugh so hard my cheeks hurt ... my imaginary apartment is real and full of coziness. Everyone is welcome. I like the way Canadians do that subtle smile with one another when they pass by. I like it, but I still miss Dhaka.