May in Vancouver is in no rush

The days start earlier and earlier now. The slight dampness on the streets slowly gives way to sunlight—not heat, but a clean, gentle kind of light. Even the reflections in the puddles feel calm and composed.

This month has felt a bit like sitting by the window in a daze—wanting to do everything, yet in no hurry to start.

Main Street has been the path I’ve walked most often. When the weather is nice, all the patios open their umbrellas. Liberty Bakery, that old familiar spot, still makes their rose latte a bit too sweet, but I find I mind less now. One Tuesday morning I stayed there for a long time. I watched three rounds of customers come and go—someone editing photos on a laptop, someone else just staring into space. I was the latter.

A few afternoons in May, I wandered through different neighborhoods. One time, I picked up some bresaola and olive bread from La Grotta Del Formaggio on Commercial Drive and walked it over to Grandview Park. An older couple sat quietly on a bench, watching a soccer game in the distance. I took a bite of bread—the saltiness reminded me of sun-warmed iron railings. Familiar, yet strange.

One whole day passed in the rain. But Vancouver in the rain isn’t always grey—there’s more contrast to it. The greens get deeper, red brick walls look warmer, and the tulips in the corner planters seem to suddenly wake up.

My memories of evenings are scattered. Mostly just good meals in cozy spots—Twisted Fork in Gastown, small diners on Fraser Street. Sometimes I sat alone, sometimes I chatted with a friend until the place nearly closed. I also tried new places, like Okeya Kyujiro—where watching the chefs work from the counter was more interesting than eating. The lights were dim, the motions slow. The whole pace felt just like Vancouver itself—restrained, deliberate, and quietly present.

It’s not that I didn’t feel tired, but the exhaustion in May is different from winter. It’s lit by sunlight—transparent, the kind of tiredness that feels like it could be solved with a single good night’s sleep.

Nothing big happened this month, but I know for certain: I’ve slowed down since April, and I’ve gotten quieter too. It’s like my heartbeat has synced up with the rhythm of this city. I walk through the streets after dinner, hear a distant seagull cry, and feel more at peace.

Maybe that’s what living in Vancouver means
You think nothing has changed, but somehow, you have.