Reflecting Vancouver

Canadian citizenship
“Have fun pledging to the Queen,” one coworker joked on my way out.

“And all her heirs and successors,” I said, hopping on one leg to attach a reflective ankle strap. “That’s the important part!”

A deep autumn downpour had passed through the night before, leaving the ground sodden beneath startling blue skies. I pedaled down Heather Street, toward the False Creek skyline. The glass of Vancouver shimmered in pale November sunlight. Flowing grey clouds obscured the North Shore mountains, like a tidal cascade, and the air still smelled of rain. Rain, that defining scent of Vancouver, clean and nearly odourless.

Inside the CIC hall, a cacaphony of voices, a blur of skin tones. Guests are seated first, then those taking the oath. It is the same room where I took the test a few months earlier, showing I could identify Atlantic provinces and the basic principles of constitutional monarchy…

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