Tuesday, December 22, 2015

My alarm went off at 6 a.m. I checked the time—still dark outside. I rolled over and peeled myself out of my blanket like I was unwrapping a burrito. That’s when I realized I’d forgotten to change into my pajamas. I slept in my chef uniform.

At least I didn’t wear my apron. That thing was still crusted with oil and blood stains from making beef chili the night before.

I dragged myself out of bed and looked in the mirror. The uniform still looked clean—just a few soap marks.
I can probably get one more day out of this, I thought. I just need a clean apron.

I headed to the bathroom, cutting through the den, and saw Leanne asleep on my couch. She lived far away and had to be in early, so I offered her a place to crash. We started work at 6 a.m. the day before, finished at 1 a.m., got home at 1:45, and passed out almost immediately.

I checked my phone. 6:05 a.m.
No notifications. Just the time staring back at me. I put it face-down and told myself I didn’t care.

We’ve got time for breakfast.

I brushed my teeth, went to the kitchen, and made sunny-side eggs and toast for both of us. The sizzling woke Leanne up.

“Something smells good,” she said, shuffling in wrapped in the blanket I gave her. T-shirt, sweatpants—maximum comfort.

I smiled. “Morning. Breakfast is almost ready. Get changed. Coffee’s almost done.”

“Yes, chef.”

We sat at the tiny foldable table facing the QEW and Lake Ontario. Cold, dark, and quiet—one of those December mornings where the world hasn’t woken up yet.

“Some view,” she said.

I nodded. “How’d you sleep?” Leanne asked

“Short,” I said. That felt easier than explaining the rest.

As we finished breakfast, the sky slowly started to clear. The highways were empty—no cars, no noise. Just the 501 streetcar rolling by every ten minutes.

It was one of those views you want to point out to someone.

I didn’t. I just sat there and let it pass.

I checked the clock. 7 a.m. Our shift started at 8.

“One last ride?” I asked.

“One last ride.”

She did the dishes while I grabbed our gear. Years of working the Toronto Christmas Market meant you learned everything—hot apps, cold bar, prep, dish pit. Leanne came back fully changed and tossed me my clean apron.

“You forgot this.”

“Thanks.”

We bundled up and caught the 501 to the Distillery District. Forty-five minutes—because TTC is TTC—but enough time to steal a few more minutes of sleep. I set a timer so we wouldn’t miss our stop.

When we arrived, they were flipping the countdown sign.

3 days until Christmas.

Security waved us in. We nodded back. The central kitchen sat in the middle of the “Naughty or Nice” section—aka the outdoor bar and grill. Chef Jai was already everywhere at once. Meetings, check-ins, chaos. 

Leanne and I went to Chef Jai’s office and put our jackets there before we head to the kitchen and fired up the ovens, grills, fryers. Prepped for the storm before lunch hit.

8 a.m.

Only 17 hours left.

Sous Chef Sean walked in carrying bottled water.
“Morning, Leanne. Morning, Alex. Hope you slept well.”

“Four hours,” I said. “But it’s enough.”

Leanne nudged me. “Grab extra towels. It’s gonna be a doozy.”

I rushed to the laundry room and almost collided with Sean on the way back.

“Easy, kid. You good?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Just surviving one more day.”

He sighed. “This industry’s a marathon, not a race. Doesn’t matter how fast you go—just how long you last.”

I nodded. “I’m just nervous.”

“So are good chefs,” he said. “Difference is—we cook through it. You got this. I got you.”

“Thanks, chef.”

Back in the kitchen, the whole crew checked in.
“You ready, little bro?” Leanne asked.

“Yup.”

We high-fived.

“Let’s rock.”

The next six hours were chaos. Orders flying. Runners sprinting. Leanne ran two grills while I stayed one step ahead, prepping her next moves. In two months, we’d become a well-oiled machine—twenty people crammed into a space meant for eight.

When things slowed, I fed staff or jumped into dish pit. Somewhere along the way, they started calling me Brother Love—the kid who showed up and cared.

By 3 p.m., dishes were stacked like mountains. I stared into the pit.

This is gonna take a while.

An hour and a half later, it was clear.

“Thanks, Brother Love,” they said.

I walked out soaked and starving. 4:30 p.m.

“You wanna take lunch?” I asked Leanne. “I’ll make something before dinner rush.”

“You mean your 4,000-calorie sandwich?”

“You know it.”

Three slices of bread. Two schnitzels. Beef chili. Nacho cheese. Pressed into a ridiculous tower.

She took half. I gave the rest to dish pit. Their faces lit up.
Dishwashers are the backbone of every kitchen—when they fall, everything falls.

We took our break outside by the gas-lit fireplace. Snow fell, melted instantly, and glittered under Christmas lights. The laughter in the distance reminded me of a version of myself that laughed easier—back when I didn’t flinch at the word future.

On the way back, a crowd gathered.

“Will you marry me?” Said the man. He was wearing a black tench coat with a red beanie. 

The man wore a black trench coat and a red beanie. He dropped to one knee. The crowd exploded with cheers.

I stood there smiling—the automatic kind, the one your face does before your heart catches up.

For a split second, I tried to imagine what that moment was supposed to feel like. Then the thought slipped away, like it didn’t belong to me anymore.

Leanne stepped beside me and wrapped her arm around my shoulder.
“Let’s go,” she said. “Don’t keep the team waiting.”

Dinner went smoothly. Inventory cleared. The fryer was emptied. Floors mopped.

Midnight.

We were done—with an hour to spare.

Chef Jai, that I haven’t seen him all day because he working and running around like a headless chicken came to the kitchen. He clapped. “I’m proud of all of you. Merry Christmas.”

People rushed home. What stayed behind was something else—a sense of belonging I hadn’t felt in a long time.

The dish pit crew stopped me.
“Brother Love… how do you make that sandwich?”

Relief washed over me.
“I can give you the recipe.” I chuckled. 

I wrote it down.

When it was finally just me, Leanne, and Sean, he asked,
“What’s next for you?”

I laughed hollowly. “Honestly? No clue. I have nowhere to go”

“Honestly, Sean, I have no clue. I have nowhere to go.” with a hollow laugh. Sean looked confused. “What do you mean kid? You have your family and friends—“ “Friends that I cut off to pursue this new life,” I cut him off. “Look kid. You got your family, Leanne, and me. You can always rebuild relationships. Well, most ones.” I tried not to tear up. “I’m so sorry about your heartbreak in the summer. But running away from your problems and working through your depression isn’t the way to go. You’ll become even more lonely. Trust me. I’ve been there. Promise me you’ll change.” I took a deep breath and sighed. “Yes, Chef.” Sean chuckled. “It’s ’Yes Sean’ now,” he said. You’re no longer my employee. You’re my friend.

He studied me for a moment. “What do you mean kid? You have your family and friends—“

“Friends that I cut off to pursue this new life,” I cut him off. 

Sean sighed. “Look kid. You got your family, Leanne, and me. You can always rebuild relationships. Well, most ones.” 

I tried not to tear up. 

“I’m so sorry about your heartbreak in the summer. But running away from your problems and working through your depression isn’t the way to go. You’ll become even more lonely. Trust me. I’ve been there. Promise me you’ll change.”

I didn’t argue.

“You don’t fix things by running,” he added gently.

I swallowed. “Yes, chef.”

“It’s ‘Yes, Sean’ now,” he smiled. “You’re not my employee anymore. You’re my friend.” He gave me a big hug.

That hug stayed with me.

Leanne and I headed outside the kitchen. The market slowly emptied. Leanne and I took pictures like tourists, not ready to let go. I also know that it’s her birthday in a couple of hours. So might as well, make the most of this place before we bid farewell. 

Leanne walked a few steps ahead before realizing I wasn’t beside her anymore.

Leanne and I went to the exit. We passed by the mistletoe where the line is still fairly long. Friends, families, and of course, couples lined up to take pictures. I slowed down… then stopped completely and looked at them with envy. 

Leanne walked a few steps ahead before realizing I wasn’t beside her anymore.She came back for me and poked my frozen shoulder. “Hey little bro. You alright?” She asked me. “Yeah,” I replied. “Let’s leave this place.” I wrapped my right arm around her to keep her warm, and we walked to Union Station, where we parted

It was a long 30 minute walk because the sidewalks are very icy. During that time while we slowly walked and try not to slip,  we sparked deep, meaningful conversations. Talking about our families, friends, relationships, careers. Over the course of 3 months we met each other, we have similar interests and came from similar upbringings. For the first time, I feel like I have an older sister that cares about me. 

We got to Union Station, where I walked Leanne to the TTC subway station. The streets are nearly empty, with only a small handful of cars quietly cruising on the streets and the 24-hour streetcars. Across the street is just a 10-minute walk to the 501 streetcar back to my apartment. 

“Well, I guess this is it,” I said to Leanne. 

“For now,” Leanne said tirelessly. “We’ll see each other again in the new year.” 

“I know. Thanks for being there with me,” 

Leanne nodded. “Thanks for letting me crash at your place,” she started to hug me. 

“Don’t worry little bro. We’ll go far.” 

I wrapped my arms around her. “I know.” We hugged for a few minutes. 

“Okay. That’s enough from me,” I said. “Get home safe. Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday!” 

She carefully walked to the train station without slipping. “Thank you, little brother,” she said. “I’ll see you in the new year,” 

I waved and looked to see if she made the train safely. After that, I walked to my streetcar stop and took the 501 back to my apartment. 

Back home, the apartment was silent. I cooked noodles, ate alone, and collapsed into bed without even showering.

I slept for twenty hours.

When I finally woke up, I cleaned up the entire apartment. Kitchen, clothes, bed sheets, and most importantly, myself. I haven’t showered in two days. 

When all the cleaning was done, it was Christmas Eve. Snow drifted down. My body ached. I checked my phone and saw a post from church.One of my friend from church, Aaron, proposed to his girlfriend last night at The Toronto Christmas Market. He was wearing a black tench coat with a red beanie. 

“Oh,” I said quietly. “Good for him.”

I open the curtains to a beautiful, lightly snowy Christmas eve. Snow plowers are working and people are either rushing to the nearest plaza to do some last minute shopping, or grabbing that last bit of food at the supermarket down the street before it closes for 2 days. The view was stunning. The light flurries that falls down to the streets below with a breathtaking view of Lake Ontario. I decided to go outside for a walk to get some fresh air and get my body moving before it starts breaking down even more. I grabbed my winter jacket and my thermos and I got out of the apartment.

It was a short 5 minute walk to the park. I walked past that bridge that has been attached with thousands of different love-locks with names. The path was empty. Not a single person in sight because no one wants to run or bike in this cold, December afternoon. 

I sat at a bench that was just beside the love-lock bridge. I saw a few couples putting a lock onto that bridge, danced, and kissed like it was a Disney movie. I smiled, then I looked at the lake. 

The view was just water and some ice and the sound was just waves crashing into the beach. It clears my mind and it’s so soothing. I closed my eyes and thought what Sean has talked to me. The past 6 weeks I’ve been working with him and Leanne was the most life-changing time in my life.

For the first time, I entered to a world that was filled with color. Not just black and white. I finally found a station where I feel like I belong. But somehow, after all of this, I still feel empty. Maybe Sean was right. Maybe I need to rebuild some bridges. I walked back to the apartment, crossing that same bridge but some people were spreading love and joy.

I walked back to my apartment where I got a text from my family which I haven’t seen for 4 months:

Mom: We’d love to have you home for Christmas.

I smiled.

Sure thing. I’ll be there.

Two and a half hours of travel in the snow didn’t matter. I packed my bag and headed out.

For the first time in a while, I wasn’t running.

I still didn’t know how to fix everything—but I finally stopped pretending I didn’t want to.

I was going home.