How I got my true Canadian experience

It all started with a bad feeling on a sunny day in May. I was washing my face in the bathroom and couldn’t take my eyes away from the mirror.

“This is what you wanted to be? A hopeless, workless immigrant?” my inner voice said as water dripped down my neck.

Almost two years had passed since I immigrated to Canada. I had two master’s degrees, but failed to find a job. I sent out hundreds of resumes but received no response. Not even one.

There is an unwritten rule for immigrants in Canada; no matter what degree and qualifications you have, you should start at the zero level unless you have networks. You should gain experience by doing whatever and putting this on your resume above your five or 10 years’ professional experience. It is called the “Canadian experience.”

In the beginning, I told myself that “the next employer will look at my resume and will consider me as a qualified person.” My approach at the time was to put all my effort into finding a job in my profession and avoid general jobs.

But nobody believed in me enough to give me an interview, let alone a job. Month after month, I lost more hope. I even lost my confidence to be in public places and talk to people. I started to believe I wasn’t good enough and that nobody wanted me in my new country.

That morning in May something happened. I hated the person I saw in the mirror. It wasn’t me. I didn’t want to be like her. “I will go out today and find a job. Whatever it would be, even a dishwasher,” I told myself, and left home.

I didn’t have a car. I went around by a bike. It was my cheap and healthy mode of transport. I rode to the nearest plaza. Looking at the stores in the plaza made me nervous. “How can I talk to store managers? What should I say? They definitely don’t want an immigrant with an accent working in their stores.” Negative thoughts almost overwhelmed me. But I put them aside when I stepped into the first store.

I was shy and maybe even stammered in the few first stores, but it got better after that. I went to all the stores and dropped off my resume. I wasn’t sure any of them would call me so I headed to other plazas. The last store I went into that day was a pharmacy. There wasn’t a bike rack or anything outside the store that I could lock my bike to. I was worried about leaving my bike unlocked. “It’s just two minutes, let’s go,” my inner voice said.

“Do you hire?” I asked the first employee I saw. He led me to the manager in the back of the store. I looked for my bike through the window but couldn’t see it from there.

“Are you available during the weekends?” the manager asked while looking at my resume.

“Yes, I am available all the time,” I said. “We might need someone. Let me think about it,” she said, smiling as she said goodbye.

I turned to leave but suddenly said, “You know I studied chemistry. I can help your pharmacist, too.”

I know there is no relation between being a chemist and working in a pharmacy, but I was prepared to link irrelevant things in order to achieve my goal. The only thing I wanted in that moment was getting a job.

The store manager called the pharmacist over and said, “She is the help you are waiting for.”

The pharmacist asked me to follow her into a room for an interview. I was flustered. I wasn’t prepared for an interview and I was worried about my unlocked bike. But my inner voice kept telling me, “Do it. It’s now or never!”

“Why do you want to work here? What is your five-year plan? What are your strengths and weaknesses?” The pharmacist bombarded me with questions.

In integration classes in the first months after we immigrated, we were taught how to present ourselves to employers. My instructor told me not to be shy or humble. I still don’t understand why employers like to hear exaggeration, but this is the way to get a job.

“I am a smart girl. I could learn anything very fast. I have a good communication skills and I think I really fit in your pharmacy,” I said with a big smile.

When I walked out of the pharmacy, I felt relieved. It was like a heavy load was lifted from my shoulders. I tapped my finger against my bike seat and told myself: “Did you see how I sold myself in that interview?”

I got the job and became a pharmacy assistant. That might not seem like a big deal but for me it was my biggest achievement after I immigrated. It helped me to finally have a true Canadian experience and get interviews and a job in my field of study. But more than that it rebuilt my lost self-confidence and I became myself again.

Being an immigrant is hard. I am still struggling to fit in. However, now I know I just need to be patient and persistent. And never lose hope.