It's quiet. Just the rumbling of the car. My friend is asleep next to me, their head on my shoulder. I open the windows. The breeze is nice and cool and rustles my hair. As soon as the window is open, it reveals the sound of crickets.

Dear, Canada.

You do not belong to us.

You never have.

And I really, really hope you never will.

You are your own country, but I know I don’t have to tell you that.

You already know it.

What if

I could be a real actor

What if

It doesn't matter if my name sounds like a big-movie-star name?

What if I'm delusional?

What if I don't really care?