Everyone has a particular affinity for where they're from. But the depth of feeling varies from hazy nostalgia to acute heartache. Those who can't return to their hometowns are often tragic figures. Either the political situation won't allow it or the place has so changed it is no longer there. This was the case for my parents who were forced out of their country of birth then heard from others how much it had transformed. "Don't go back." a lot of their friends advised. My hometown is just a short drive up the I-87 but each time I go back it has changed in subtle but unmistakable ways. I'm not part of the in-jokes and have no context for the way the place is evolving. Away from home, I get stabs of remembrance of my time there. A flash of a certain street in a YouTube video, a regional accent in a news report. Or a song. I had already moved when Arcade Fire made it big but I vividly remember the way I first heard their music. I was driving alone on the Trans-Canada highway from my parents suburbs to the City. A new scene was bubbling up among 20 and 30-somethings without me. The alternative weekly that used to be our bible of events and clubs and films had stopped publishing. Later I saw their album cover, which featured an old white Mercedes sedan just like the one I owned when I lived there. I felt a connection. Then I heard the song Mountains Beyond Mountains and the words told part of the story of my life. Or at least that's how it struck me. The sprawl. The suburban sprawl I longed to escape as a teenager in the belief that life was elsewhere. I can close my eyes and see over the dashboard of my 1973 220 as I look beyond the line of Trans Canada Highway traffic and get a glimpse of St. Joseph's oratory on the hill and know the city is near.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=awHWColYQ90