Tina Winterlik: the morning after halloween

Sunday, November 1, 2026

the morning after halloween

Halloween is over. Día de Muertos begins.

It was 5:30 in the morning, and I was still awake.

A friend's clock had been ticking all night. Apparently, he can not hear it anymore, but I certainly can. So, rather than lie there listening to every second pass, I decided to go for a little walk.

The streets were quiet. Halloween decorations still lingered, and the excitement of the previous evening had given way to the stillness of early morning.

Then I noticed a woman going through the recycling.

I'd seen her around before, carrying her belongings in grocery bags. This morning, she was looking for refundable cans.

I stopped for a moment.

There is something about seeing an elderly person searching through discarded bottles and cans that stays with you. Not because the person is doing anything wrong, but because you wonder how we have arrived at a place where this is how someone has to get through the day.

I thought about how easily circumstances could have been different for me.

Not long ago, I was struggling to figure out where I would live, how I would find work and how I would manage to keep going. A little help from family, a part-time cleaning job and an unexpected opportunity to get away have changed what the next few months look like.

Sometimes the distance between having a roof over your head and searching through recycling is smaller than people imagine.

I went back inside, and from the window I noticed movement in the alley across the street. There she was again, searching through another recycling bin.

At that very moment, a very long limousine rolled down the street.

I couldn't help noticing the contrast.

One person searching for a few refundable cans. Another travelling in a vehicle that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent.

Perhaps there was a perfectly ordinary explanation for the limousine. Maybe several people had hired it together. Still, the timing was something else.

And it got me thinking about the city I am about to leave.

Another familiar building is apparently facing redevelopment, with talk of towers reaching extraordinary heights. Neighbourhoods are changing, housing is becoming increasingly difficult to find, and even the everyday character of our streets seems to be shifting.

In six months, I wonder how much will have changed.

Will I recognise the neighbourhood? Will the familiar places still be there? What will happen to the people who are already struggling to find their place in it?

I'm leaving Vancouver for a while, and honestly, I'm looking forward to the change of scenery.

But before I go, I want to acknowledge something.

I am grateful.

Grateful for the family who stepped up when I needed help. Grateful for the part-time work that gives me a little breathing room. Grateful for a plane ticket, a bicycle, a few bananas and some honey.

Grateful for a lovely Halloween evening, the wonderful costumes, the decorated houses and the memories of taking my kid trick-or-treating years ago.

Grateful that the rain washed my murals clean and that, with the sunshine and high tide, they were looking beautiful again.

Grateful to be part of the Eastside Culture Crawl.

Grateful for a little message from my kid.

And grateful for Orion, visible in the early morning sky.

I will see that familiar constellation again in Mexico.

Today is Día de Muertos, a day for remembering, honouring and celebrating life. It seems an appropriate day to reflect on how fragile, unpredictable and precious our lives really are.

We spend so much time worrying about what comes next that sometimes we forget to notice what we have right now.

I don't know what Vancouver will look like when I return.

But I know this: nobody should have to search through rubbish bins to get by while we build taller towers and stretch our city further into the sky.

A city should be measured by more than its skyline.

It should also be measured by how it looks after the people who call it home.

For today, I'm counting my blessings, looking forward to the journey, and wishing everyone a little more kindness.

Happy Día de Muertos.