When I first arrived in Canada, I knew little about what it was—about its history, its politics, or how it came to be. To me, it was just a new place, a promising country where I hoped to make a fresh start. But as time went on, I began to learn bits and pieces, some of them from unexpected places, like conversations with people who crossed my path, each with their own unique perspectives. One of those people was Mr. Duane, a man I met at one of my sites, who shared insights that shifted my view of Canada.

Mr. Duane spoke about the Queen’s Charter and how Canada, at its foundation, was set up almost like a corporation. I remember being intrigued, almost bewildered by the idea of a country having a corporate history. It was a perspective I hadn’t considered. To me, Canada was becoming home, yet here was a man who saw it as a structure with roots in colonization and control. His insights opened doors in my mind, making me wonder: Who owns a country? Or more profoundly, what makes a country “ours”?

Years later, living in Austin, I encountered another shift in perspective. There was talk of a case challenging the occupation that created Canada. This idea rattled me—challenging the very existence of something that had become a “home” for me. It was another reminder that land, history, and belonging are far from simple concepts. One group claims ownership based on one perspective, while another challenges it from a different angle. And here I was, standing somewhere in the middle, learning that “home” is as much about perspective as it is about place.

This question of perspective reminded me of other conflicts, other lands, and other claims. Take Israel, for instance. Some people look at the land and say, “This is ours by right; it’s biblical.” Palestinians say, “We live here; and have been living here for centuries.” Both sides come with a history, a deeply rooted sense of belonging. But they’re both looking at the same land, staking their lives, identities, and beliefs on their claim. It’s two perspectives colliding in the most human, and often painful, way.

So, what is perspective? It’s not just a way of seeing the world; it’s the lens that colors everything we experience. It’s our history, our beliefs, and our understanding coming together to shape how we interpret “truth.” And yet, perspective is flexible. What I saw as just another country, I learned to call “home.” And others, whose history and heritage run deeper, may see it as a corporation, an occupation, or a place still contested. The truth is, all of these perspectives are valid in their own right. But that doesn’t make them easy to reconcile.

The question remains, and perhaps will always remain: Whose land is it? Is it mine? Yours? Everyone’s? No one’s? The answers vary based on who you ask. Perhaps that’s what makes the world so complicated and yet so rich in meaning. Perspective changes everything. It can turn a piece of land into a home, a battleground, or a promise. It defines not just how we see the world, but also how we choose to live in it.

And for me, perspective has become a constant reminder of humility. It’s a reminder that my way of seeing things is not the only way and that sometimes, to truly understand the world, I have to let go of my own view and step into another’s. Because in the end, land, home, and even belonging are only as real as the perspective we see them through. And who knows how that perspective may shift tomorrow?