ÎÚÑ»´«Ã½

That September, my longtime Canadian university roommates decided to go backpacking around the world together after we graduated. I decided to stay behind.

As I moved into a new apartment and summer came to an end, I started questioning if I had made the right choice to stay in Canada. Maybe I would be better off enjoying the warmth of BrazilÌý— both physically and emotionallyÌý— alongside my family.

But soon, a mutual friend introduced me to a group of other University of ÎÚÑ»´«Ã½ graduates. There were nine of them, and they came from all corners of the world, including India, Singapore, Dubai and Russia.

I joined them for karaoke nights in Koreatown, picnics at Trinity Bellwoods and potluck dinners all over. Eventually, I was added to a Facebook group chat titled “Cottyâ€� (that’s what we thought people called going to a cottage).

An Ontario cottage vacation was also in my bucket list of Canadian experiences, and I couldn’t have been more excited.

After browsing on Airbnb, our group settled on a five-bedroom home in the township of TinyÌý— near Wasaga Beach, about 40 minutes north of BarrieÌý— and booked it for Thanksgiving weekend.

We drove on a crisp Friday night, the car reeking of the A&W fries we got to-go. One of us made a playlist with a cheesy mix of road trip songs, just so we could chatter over it for the entire three-hour ride.Ìý

Tiny’s name, it turns out, accurately reflects its lack of grandeur. But we still got lost on our way to the Airbnb, after taking a few wrong turns on seemingly identical roads of ranch-style bungalows.

Though it didn’t have a view of the lake, the home had a large garden with a bonfire pit and a hot tub that surprisingly managed to fit all of us. And that, to a bunch of 20-year-olds, was more than enough to guarantee a fun weekend.

The next three days were full of surprises. We headed to Wasaga Beach, only to find it completely empty and all stores closed, given that it was mid-October and 10 C outside. We walked along the shore bundled up in our sweaters, drawing our names with sticks in the sand, and laughing about how we had grossly underestimated the cold weather. Although it wasn’t a summer trip, despite the weather, it sure felt like one.

When hiking through the Tiny Marsh Provincial Wildlife Area, one of approximately 1,200 places recognized as essential habitat for birds in Canada, we met a birdwatcher who taught us to identify different species through photos he took on a professional camera.

We spotted the feathered creatures hiding among multicoloured leaves, and, for once, I felt grateful that it was peak fall.

That trip marked the beginning of an era. After graduation came a fear of change and greater responsibilities. But in those moments with friends I had just met, I wasn’t afraid of the imminent winter and going through all of it alone.

By the next spring, I became roommates with one of the guys, while five of us lived in the same apartment building. We’d often cook for each other and serve as an emergency supply of toilet paper when someone ran out.

Eventually, we booked another cottage trip in the fallÌý— but this time we stayed inside playing games and enjoying hot cocoa with a stunning lake view.

Every year around summertime, thousands of kids in ÎÚÑ»´«Ã½ get to go to camp and experience that same powerful feeling that comes with new friendships. Such connectionsÌý— whether they last weeks, months or yearsÌý— can empower us to face growing challenges as we age. By giving whatever amount you can to the ÎÚÑ»´«Ã½ Star Fresh Air Fund, you will help send a kid to camp and make memories that last a lifetime.