Once again, I find myself reflecting in a familiar setting.
I’m at a small café in Kitsilano called cowdog, which spells its name with a lowercase “c.” As soon as I walked in, I felt a surprising sense of comfort. The relaxed, slightly retro vibe reminded me of Forth Cafe, my favourite coffee shop back in Winnipeg. Some places just have a quiet energy—soft conversations, the steady sound of the coffee machine, and people hanging around even after they’re done.
I thought about taking a photo of my order, but the lighting at my table wasn’t great, so I decided against it (*insert photo, hahaha).
Maybe that’s for the best—not every moment needs to be captured. Some things are better just experienced.
The maple tart was tasty but pretty messy, with syrup spilling out the other end every time I took a bite. Their strawberry matcha latte was the best I’ve had so far.



Outside, it’s raining in that typical Vancouver way—steady, calm, and almost comforting. This kind of rain makes the streets look softer and seems to slow everything down. I had to push myself to leave my dorm today; if I’d stayed any longer, I probably wouldn’t have gotten anything done.
Yesterday wasn’t very productive. I spent most of it watching Ang Mutya ng Section E and was surprised by how much I enjoyed the chemistry between Andres Muhlach and Ashtine Olviga, both on and off screen. Shows like this have a light, youthful energy, where even small gestures between characters can feel meaningful. Watching it made me realize how much I miss that time in life—when having a crush could make an ordinary day feel special and little moments seemed magical. (*Why do I sound so old? HAHAHAHA)
As time goes on, life naturally gets more serious. There are more responsibilities, priorities change, and it’s easy to focus more on getting things done than on being present. But living on my own has felt different. Being alone brings a quiet sense of freedom—not because I didn’t have independence before, but because it lets me rediscover things at my own pace. Even simple things, like sitting in a café while it rains, start to feel meaningful again.
Maybe today is a good day to slow down, listen to the rain, and just let myself be present.
Sitting here has also made me think about something else—the quiet feeling of belonging.



Growing up in Winnipeg, most of my social life was centered around the Filipino community. It wasn’t something I planned or talked about—it just happened naturally. People tend to look for what’s familiar, and Winnipeg has one of the biggest Filipino communities in Canada.
Because of this, most of my friends and daily interactions were within that community. Even at school, where you might expect more diversity, a lot of my classmates were Filipino. Looking back, that environment shaped how I saw life in Winnipeg. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t very interested in exploring more of Canada back then. Instead, I often wanted to travel abroad, maybe just to see things from a new angle.
Now that I live in BC, I’ve noticed a big difference. One of the first things that stands out is how diverse everyday life is. People from all kinds of backgrounds share spaces, study together, hang out over coffee, or just go about their day side by side. This diversity feels natural and easy, which is both comforting and inspiring. Seeing different cultures come together has been energizing. It’s shown me how communities can mix while still keeping their own identities.
That’s not to say Winnipeg didn’t have diversity or cross-cultural friendships. I saw plenty of relationships there that crossed cultural lines. But in Vancouver, this kind of diversity is much more visible in everyday life, almost like it’s part of the city’s rhythm.
Realizing this has been refreshing.
Being around so many different perspectives, traditions, and stories makes daily life richer.
It opens up your view of the world and reminds you how much you can learn from others.
Maybe this part of life is about finding new places, meeting different people, and slowly learning how a community can look different depending on where you are.
As I sit in this little café, listening to the rain tapping on the windows, I feel like I’m starting to see belonging in a new way—something that keeps growing with each moment.

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