When I tell people I grew up in Vancouver’s Kitsilano neighborhood, they picture yoga studios, kombucha on tap, and ocean sunsets so perfect they could be AI-generated. And, well, they’re not wrong. Kits had all that. But growing up there was also like being raised in a beautiful, glass terrarium: picturesque and charming, but sometimes suffocatingly perfect in a way that makes you question why you’d ever want to leave—or stay.

Like a lot of childhoods, my relationship with home is messy: equal parts nostalgic daydream and that one episode of The O.C. where Ryan realizes Newport might not be all it’s cracked up to be. I love it deeply. I also sometimes hate it. And revisiting it as an adult is like running into an ex who looks great but still has all the same issues you broke up over.

Here’s the breakdown of how my love/hate relationship with home has shaped not just how I see Kitsilano, but how I approach relationships, priorities, and, weirdly, my taste in coffee.

The Love Side: Kits, You’ll Always Be My First Crush

If home were a person, Kits would be that effortlessly cool barista who teaches yoga on weekends, bikes everywhere, and always has the perfect book recommendation. It’s hard not to fall for the charm.

  • The Calm of the Coastline
    Every morning of my childhood was wrapped in North Shore views, salty breezes, and the hum of city life just faint enough to feel idyllic. In the summers, my friends and I would bike to Jericho Beach, balancing ice cream cones like a precarious Jenga tower. The sunsets were so ridiculous they made Instagram filters feel redundant. These moments felt like the world saying, “Chill, everything’s fine.”
    Now, as someone who’s seen her fair share of chaotic cities (looking at you, Melbourne’s trams during rush hour), I love how Kits taught me to find peace in the noise.

  • The People Who Shaped Me
    My parents, who ran a cozy café nestled near Broadway, were my first-ever love story to admire. My dad greeted patrons like old friends. My mom rolled out baked goods like she was auditioning for The Great Canadian Baking Show. I grew up watching how connection is built over small things—refilled coffee, shared laughter, knowing everyone’s name by heart.
    Even now, I find myself drawn to relationships that have that same warmth: thoughtful gestures, quiet consistency, and shared moments over something as humble as a latte.

  • That Multicultural Vibe
    In Kits, you didn’t just grow up—you absorbed cultures by osmosis. Between school projects celebrating Lunar New Year and potluck dinners featuring pierogies next to dim sum, I learned early how rich life becomes when you step outside your bubble.
    This upbringing became my blueprint for relationships later on: falling for people who bring a different rhythm to life than my own. The excitement of discovery, that curious pull of seeing the world their way—it’s something Kits planted in me, whether it’s a date or a friendship.

The Hate Side: When Quaint Becomes… Clingy

Of course, no love story is perfect, and neither is Kits. Returning home as an adult can feel like stepping into a snow globe you outgrew but somehow still fits, uncomfortably.

  • The “Does Everyone Run a Half-Marathon?” Complex
    Kits, I love you, but your obsession with fitness makes me feel personally attacked. This is the neighborhood where a spontaneous catch-up brunch doubles as a post-spin class cooldown. Your sweatpants aren’t even real sweatpants!
    In relationships, I’ve learned to recognize this dynamic—a “keeping up” game disguised as something aspirational. But trust me, it gets exhausting when someone (or a place) constantly asks you to meet their definition of “better” or “more together.”

  • Perfection Overload Feels Plastic
    The thing about growing up somewhere this postcard-perfect is that it starts to warp your expectations—of yourself, others, and life in general. I used to equate happiness with seamlessness: flawless avocado toast, glittery ocean views, relationships that never fight.
    Reality check: life isn’t a Wes Anderson movie, and that’s okay. Real love—and real life—rises from the messy moments, not the curated ones. It took some messy heartbreaks and very un-Kits-style over-ordering of greasy fries to appreciate imperfection for what it is: proof that you’re actually living.

  • The Fear of Stagnation
    Like that on-again, off-again ex who says they “haven’t changed but still think the world of you,” Kits hasn’t really evolved in the twenty-odd years I’ve known it. There’s still the same yoga studios, the same farmers’ markets—hell, probably the same kale. And while part of me loves its consistency, there’s another part that feels stifled by how predictable it all is.
    It’s a reminder that staying in one place—emotionally or physically—can start to feel less like stability and more like a rut. It’s a fear I bring to relationships, too: am I growing or just here? And what’s the difference?

Lessons in Love (And Home)

Now in my 30s, I’ve come to see Kitsilano like I would an old partner who knew me before I knew myself. There’s love. There’s gratitude. But there’s also a realization that moving on isn’t the same as forgetting.

Here’s what this place taught me about life, love, and prioritizing what matters:

  1. Contradictions Are Okay
    Just like relationships, you can love where you come from while acknowledging it’s not perfect. Kits will always be my base, but it doesn’t have to be my compass.

  2. Romanticizing Everything Isn’t Worth It
    Anyone from a scenic place will tell you: gorgeous views aren’t enough to keep you happy. You need depth, connection, and moments that aren’t always photo-ready. Seek the same in relationships.

  3. Value What Grounds You
    Soft rain on evergreen trees, shared lattes with my parents, and community that shows up for one another—those are the values I hope to bring to every phase of life. They’re more important than trendiness or flashy appeal, always.

  4. Sometimes, You Need Space
    There was a reason I fell for Melbourne’s sprawling grit and Tofino’s messy beach hair culture in my twenties: they’re everything Kitsilano isn’t. And I needed that—to grow, to figure myself out, and to find out what I really want. But here’s the beauty: home is always waiting for you when you’re ready to look at it with fresh eyes.

I don’t know if I’ll ever fully let go of the love/hate dynamic with Kitsilano. It’s too ingrained in me, this tug-of-war between gratitude and longing for somewhere else. But in a weird way, maybe that’s what makes a place—or even a person—stick around in our lives: when it both comforts and challenges you to keep growing.

So here’s to imperfect places and imperfect relationships. To leaving. To coming back. And to finding pieces of home in every new corner of the world—and in every new person—you let in.