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— by Ann Hui: I met Stacey in a crowded Starbucks in the underground mall beneath Toronto’s Financial District. She had been living in Toronto for the past two years, working on the thirtieth floor of the gleaming office tower above us. She was a physiotherapist, treating executives and athletes at an elite private clinic.
Talking to her here, just another smartly dressed young woman in the middle of downtown Toronto, seemed like an impossible juxtaposition with my meeting with her mother back at the family’s restaurant on Fogo Island. I tried but failed to conjure up the image of that faded restaurant on the quiet island where she’d grown up.
“My mom would wear out her shoes,” she said. “Same as my dad. He owned, like, four items of clothes and washed them constantly.” …
Image courtesy of Flare/Amanda Palmer
May 1, 2019