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It’s 10 PM. I find myself on a bus in Whitehorse, a Canadian city in the territory of Yukon. Yesterday, a guide on the MacBride Museum of Yukon History told me about the name Whitehorse: it was inspired by the local rivers, whose currents look like white horses. And here I am, after 30 days in Vancouver, sharing the medium temperature of -2.2 Fahrenheit degrees with the 25.085 people who call this place home. My family had decided to visit me in the end of my exchange program, so we could enjoy Canada together. The bus is silent, unless by the sound of the wheels meeting holes on the road. My outside view is covered by ice curtains, the only visible thing are the little white dots pushing hard against the glass, trying to pass through. The cold breeze, subtly dancing in my skin, takes my mind to when I first arrived at Vancouver. I remember using white boots in my feet and a red scarf around my neck. The sun was early yawling in Vancouver, too weakly, though, to vanish the darkness. The piercing cold accompanied me as I walked alone in that neighborhood, in that strange city, scared about the exchange and it's uncertains. The bus shakes my thoughts away and stops. My mind is back in Whitehorse. Now I realize that, over this trip, the cold has stopped to push me away, and has started to hug me. “We're here!” My mom smiles from ear to ear, as my stepfather squeezes my shoulders behind me. “Excited?” They came for me, so I could cross this wish out of my bucket list. I smile, glad for sharing this moment with them. Getting out of the bus, I feel the fluffly snow hugging my heavy boots and I see a clearing surrounded by cabins. In the darkness, the scarlet red of the campfire matchs with the icy white grass, making the landscape looks like a painting. When I go into the cabin, the heat penetrates my thick layers of clothing, making the -33 Fahrenheit degrees senseless. My eyes are caught by a world map full of sprinkled red dots. “These are our visitor’s hometowns. Where did you come from?” I point at my city to the guide and notice the absence of red dots. Although simple, I feel special for it. I accept 3 pins and proudly pierce the map. After a while, the guides call us outside. The uncertainty whether it would appear is relieved when I look up and see traces of the Northern Lights, the reason we are here in this place so distant from home, yet, so familiar. I’ve seen this same sky every single day, but, this time, it hosts a different show. The aurora is there, brighter than ever, showing off its dancing colors on the starry sky, as my eyes meet my mother’s and a feeling is captured. At this moment, before one of the greatest performances of nature, where all sorts of animals seem swim with ease in great green currents, I realize that I am alive and that I am blessed for that. All the people I have met, all the experiences I have lived brought me to this moment and made me the person I am today. Although fear has its ways to block my memory and make me forget, I remind myself of how beautiful the World is and how much it has to offer, despite the uncertainties, because, on this very own night, the Aurora is me; from this night, I choose to be the light, I choose to appear. I only have to let the cold warm me up.