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Vancouver, we need to talk. Yes, it’s THAT talk

  • @BrendanRolfe
  • Aug 27, 2017
  • 3 min read

HEALTHAHOLICSunanimous Healthy Living

This isn’t going to be easy to say, so I’m just going to come right out and say it, I’m leaving you, and it’s not me, it’s you.

I want to say that this is difficult, because let’s face it, you’re hot; your sexy beaches, your lush forests and your perky mountains are nothing short of titillating, but to be honest, the decision wasn’t even that hard. You just aren’t who you appeared to be when we first met. And maybe it’s not just you; I mean, when you and I first started seeing each other we were both younger. I was fascinated by your night-life, I was enamored with your multiculturalism, and your sushi choices…forget about it…

But I’ve changed, matured, grown as a person, and you haven’t. I’ve become educated, my priorities have changed, and I have gained a new found respect for the consideration of a future life with a house and a family. And I’ve learned more about you too; what makes you tick, and what you have to offer, I’ve met your friends and your boss, and quite honestly, the more I’ve learnt, the less I like.

You’re high maintenance. But the worst part about it is that you know it, and you, your friends, and your boss seem to be ok with it, as if it’s normal. I can’t afford to pay your rent anymore, I can’t afford to pay for your groceries, and I can’t afford to pay for your gas. You have an air about you that says “I don’t want no scrubs”, and yet you skirt any and all responsibilities that would that would help the people closest to you from becoming “scrubs”.

HEALTHAHOLICSunanimous Healthy Living

Now let’s talk about your friends for a minute, because they’re always there. For the most part, they lack any real depth. They are band-wagon hoppers, at best, on-board with any new trend that seems fashionable. They are flaky, pretentious, wannabe’s, at worst. The most difficult part of trying to befriend your friends, is that most of them carry on a façade that makes it nearly impossible to get to know the real person behind it…if they even know that person themselves.

You know what the saddest part is? Even though you are rude, expensive, and shallow, I would’ve considered staying with you. I really would have. But the last straw was when it became clear that you no longer want to be with me. No, you never actually came right out and said it. But we’ve been slowly drifting apart for years. I have see you hanging around with wealthy developers (don’t think I haven’t noticed your facelift and the constant work being done on your appearance…hell, I’ve helped PAY for it). You really are beautiful, but you have all the feels of someone who sold their soul to the devil for that beauty, though be warned, the devil will come collecting, and he never gets shorted.

If it sounds like I’m bitter, it’s because I am. I’m a catch. I’m educated, but street smart too; I’m kind, socially aware, and culturally and environmentally sensitive. I work hard to save money, but I also go out of my way to buy local and support the small businesses that constitute your backbone. I’m an entrepreneur and an ‘idea guy’ who believes in preventative health care and eating well, to save on your healthcare burden. I’m young, but I appreciate history and tradition; I’m determined, but polite; and I’m exactly the kind of person you should want to have around you, but you seem indifferent, apathetic, and cold.

You only care about two things: how much money you make, and how you appear. You pretend to be world-class, but you don’t even look out for your own children.

They say surround yourself with those who you admire and who make you a better person, and for awhile Vancouver, that was you. But the Vancouver I once knew isn’t the Vancouver I now know. You are a stranger, and we’ve become estranged. For all of these reasons, I am leaving you. Is the door open for us to get back together down the road? I don’t know, maybe. But not as you are now.

And so I say goodbye, and believe me when I tell you, from the bottom of my heard, it’s not me…it’s you.

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