Ten years ago, I woke up early to watch a hockey game.

I also woke up early to see my mom out the front door of my building as she caught a taxi to the airport that morning. My parents had very sweetly (and - let's be honest - kind of necessarily) come to help me get settled in Melbourne, Australia for my first year of veterinary school. With my mother's departure, it was the first time I was going to be truly away from my family for the first time. As someone who hates change and loves stability, the past month had been an absolute whirlwind of anxiety mixed with excitement.

Luckily for me, I didn't have time to dwell on the moment, or I might have cried. Instead, I had a hockey game to look forward to.

Having suffered through the woes of constant construction with the rest of the city while preparing for the Games, I had finally surrendered to the growing buzz and excitement that they were starting to inspire in our city. To have to leave it just as the festivities were beginning had been a bit of a blow, slightly softened by the company of good friends who gamely joined me on an ill-advised attempt to get into one of the outdoor venues to watch the opening ceremonies on the big screen with the crowds, and who surprised me with a Canada hockey jersey. My parents and I arrived at the airport just as Canada's first gold medal came from Alexandre Bilodeau in the moguls, and so I headed off to Australia cheered by the historic sports moment.

We caught bits and pieces of the Olympics game with the woefully inadequate coverage in Melbourne, excited with each new success by a Canadian athlete. Whatever the broadcast didn't cover, we used precious internet data to watch videos on the official website. By the time the Men's Hockey game came around, Canadians were already riding the high off the Women's team snatching victory from the jaws of defeat, and we were ready to have the Men's team solidify our position as a hockey nation. This is our game and we were going to win it on our home soil!

... of course, I wasn't in Canada. I was in Australia, who didn't have a horse in this particular race. So at 7am I had to suffer through the morning news with occasional clips of the live Gold Medal game for 15-30 second increments before the commercial breaks.

It was excruciating.

With my measly internet plan, I couldn't afford the data to livestream the game. Most everyone I knew in Vancouver was (rightly) out watching the game in hopes of celebrating with a crowd. The only thing I could do was sit in my sparse little studio apartment in my hockey jersey, refreshing the official page for an update of the score and hoping it would be in my team's favour. I'm sure I must have had my own tiny celebration seeing the goals for Canada, but really it was all a blur of heart-pounding anxiety, waiting for the newscast to finish so I could finally watch the game live. At one point I desperately searched online to try and find if there was some place I could go to watch the game live.

(There would have been. The Imperial was the pub of choice for ex-pat Canadians looking for hockey. It's where I went to watch the Canucks go on their Stanley Cup run. It's where there must have been hundreds of Canadians packed into that tiny bar, fooling no one when they called in sick to work that day but probably not caring.)

Finally, the newscast finished right around where the third period started with a tenuous 2-1 lead for Canada. I sat huddled on my bed, staring at my tiny TV screen, alternately clutching my face or my pillow as the high stakes and tension of the game nearly killed me. The tying goal from the US in the dying seconds of the third period was devastating. I was vibrating non-stop through the intermission and then had to remind myself to breathe as the game went into sudden-death overtime.

All it would take was one goal.

When Iginla got the puck to Crosby who fired it into the net, I screamed. I jumped up and down in my little room at 10am in the morning and yelled and celebrated on my own, knowing that nearly everyone back home in Canada was doing the same. And so even though it was going to be my first official day as a veterinary student, I decided that I was going to go to school dressed like a proud Canadian because it seemed like a good omen.


I remember going to the bank dressed like that to take care of some paperwork, with the teller congratulating me and telling me to flaunt it. I remember meeting the Dean of the veterinary school outside of the lecture dressed like this, and he sweetly engaged with me about celebrating the win. I remember sitting in lecture hall with the few friends/acquaintances I'd made during our "O-Week" who indulged my excitement and having the Dean have the few Canadians in our class stand up and cheer about the results.

We are as imperfect as any country, but I have always felt strongly about being Canadian. Even then, I have never been as tied to my Canadian identity or celebrated it as much as I did during my years in Australia. Thanks to the Men's Hockey Team and the Golden Goal, I will always remember how amazing my first day of being "alone" in this new country was, excited about my future and the year to come.