Voices of Affordability

Time. It’s something we all have, but what we can do with it can depend on what we can afford.

Education is important for all walks of life. It shapes my worldview in the present and influences what I want to achieve in the future. I would hope to see a future where education is publicly funded regardless of financial circumstances.

This clock is located at MacEwan University, a place I hope to attend in the future. It represents the time I have spent working towards that goal, and the opportunities and experiences I hope to have once I get there.

Affordability is not only what’s in our wallets. It can also be about whether we have the time, resources, support and accessibility needed to take advantage of the opportunity. If those things are not available, something can be financially affordable but still feel inaccessible.

I have lived in Edmonton for a long time. Long enough to see big changes and improvement in the city. For example, from only one LRT system that starts in Century Park and ends in Clareview, to four lines that all end or meet in downtown and start from every side of the city. Because of this, there is no longer a need to use personal vehicles as public transportation is just as fast and reliable as driving my own car.

This change in the transportation system makes my family and I enjoy using public transit and have access to every part of Edmonton. It reminds me of when I used to ride the LRT to travel across the North Saskatchewan River with my family to see the northern parts of the city. Affordability now means no longer having to worry about the price of gas, insurance, oil changes, or even accidents. It means spending more time enjoying nature and being with your loved ones.

No matter the weather, the increase in the number of transit lines with bus stops close by everyone, young or old, allows people of all walks of life to be more connected and to get to where they need to be quicker.

Easily accessible and environmentally friendly transportation makes me feel comfortable and safe. I have peace of mind now that I can ride the bus or train at any time of day without feeling in danger. Having affordable fares and not being worried about parking makes my journey to the city more joyful! Especially since life is not very long so we must enjoy it as much as possible.

I look at this house, and I remember when it was only a dream I drove past. Now, I'm standing in the doorway of a home that's actually mine. Surrounded by trees I planted, it holds more than walls and a roof. It holds the life I once only imagined.

My family gathers around the table, plates passed hand to hand, stories spilling into laughter that fills every corner of the room. The cat curls up by the heater, undisturbed, because this has always been a home where noise means love. Friends and family still visit from near and far, staying long past dinner, adding to twenty years of warmth, joy, and memories.

I remember what it felt like to not have this. The rent that crept up without warning. The boxes I packed more times than I can count, because a landlord decided to sell, or raise the price, or because it was simply time to go again. The nights I lay awake wondering if one unstable paycheque could take everything away. I didn't want a home because I wanted to own more than I needed. I wanted the security of knowing that this life, these dinners, this laughter, this sense of belonging, could not be pulled out from under me.

It took a city that decided affordability wasn't optional, that a stable home shouldn't be a lottery. It took twenty years of change I couldn't have predicted from where I stood in 2026. But here I am, holding a key that's really mine, in a city where people who work, contribute, and build their lives can also afford to put down roots. What choices must we make today so that, by 2046, a stable home is no longer a distant dream, but a possibility within everyone’s reach?

I envision a future where growing food also means growing justice, hope, care, collaboration, and community. By 2046, I hope to see vibrant urban farms flourishing throughout our cities, bringing people together to grow fresh, healthy food and share it with neighbors and local food banks.

For me, urban farming is more than planting seeds - it is about planting empathy, dignity, resiliency and opportunity. I believe that when communities have access to land, guidance, resources, and support, they can nourish not only their families but also build stronger and more connected communities.

I believe healthy, nutritious food should never be a luxury for only a few, but rather a basic right for everyone. Through compassion, collective efforts, solidarity, and shared responsibility, I believe we can create a future where everyone could grow, share, and thrive.

One day I imagine standing on a quiet lawn, watching my child walk toward their first home with a key in their hand. The sunlight will fall gently across their face, and I will see the same determination they had since they were small. They’ll pause at the door, take a breath, and look back at me with a smile that says they’re ready, ready for independence, ready for stability, ready for a life they chose without fear of financial burden.

I imagine the moment they turn the key, hearing the soft click of a door opening into a future filled with possibility. Inside, there will be space for their dreams: a desk for studying, a kitchen for late-night snacks, a blanket for warmth, and a room where they can rest, sleep without worry. Before they step inside, they turn back to me again with joy and happiness. In that second, my heart feels loose, my hands are holding toward my mouth, and my tears come with a peaceful smile.

I imagine a day when I no longer carry their financial stress. A day when I can breathe easily, knowing they can stand on their own. I picture myself sitting in a quiet place, maybe with a warm cup of tea, my eyeglasses sitting on top of a book that I enjoy reading, and a funny TV show playing softly in the background. In that moment, I feel calm because my children are safe, secure, and building their own lives.

These keys are more than metal, it is the symbol of a day I imagine often, the day my child opens the door to their own life, and the day I can rest, knowing they are truly okay.

Every Sunday since COVID I make this big pot of beef vegetable barley soup to share with our brothers and sisters living rough on the streets of Edmonton, AB. I put a lot of love, care, and attention into it, as my Granny did in her traditional camp in the Northwest Territories.

I learned my Dene Granny lived her entire life in the bush. Her camp was known and sought out by hunters, trappers, traders, and travelers passing through the North. Anyone who arrived at her camp could count on shelter, a good meal, good company, and plenty of laughter. That is the legacy she left behind.

This soup is my hope for the future. This soup is more than food. It is love. It is a memory. It is a tradition. It is resistance. It is a reclamation. In an effort to “kill the Indian in the child” Canada has stolen many things from me as a residential school survivor, a sixty scoop. The one thing Canada could never take from me, from us as First Nations people is our ancestral rights, our connection to our lands, and the knowledge carried in our blood memory.

This big pot of beef, vegetable, and barley soup may look simple to some, but to me, it represents so much more. It is my way of reclaiming what was taken from me. It is my way of honouring my ancestors and carrying forward their traditions in a good way. And now, every time I make this soup, I feel like I am carrying a little piece of my Granny forward. I am keeping her traditions alive. I am honouring where I come from, who I am, and the people who came before me and the future generations to come.