The end

48 hours in transit and I arrived at YVR, sans bags, exhausted and glad to be home. I had cried on the way home. The last six months had truly been the hardest, most interesting and most emotional of my life. Home, like Marlow, I “found myself back in the sepulchral city resenting the sight of people hurrying through the streets to filch a little money from each other, to devour their infamous cookery, to gulp their unwholesome beer, to dream their insignificant and silly drams. They trespassed upon my thoughts. They were intruders whose knowledge of life was to me an irritating pretense, because I felt so sure they could not possibly know the things I knew. Their bearing, which was simply the bearing of commonplace individuals going about their business in the assurance of perfect safety, was offensive to me like the outrageous flauntings of folly in the face of a danger it is unable to comprehend. I had no particular desire to enlighten them but I had some difficult in restraining myself from laughing in their faces, so full of stupid importance. I daresay I was not very well at that time. I tottered about the streets – there were various affairs to settle – grinning bitterly at perfectly respectable persons.”

Still time will pass and gradually things will become normal again. I know now that I want to stay in Canada for a time and be closer to my family. It is nice to watch hockey again as well.

An adventure indeed!