You will never be a real province. You have no culture, you have no standards, your infrastructure is crumbling. You are a 19th century shipping lane twisted by politics and money into a crude mockery of confederation’s perfection.
All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back other regions mock you. The rest of the country is disgusted and ashamed of you, your neighbouring provinces laugh at your sub-national debt level behind closed doors.
Westerners are utterly repulsed by you. Hundreds of years of politics have allowed westerners to sniff out Ontarians with incredible efficiency. Even Ontarians who “pass” sound arrogant and self important to an Albertan. Your accent is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk Albertan home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected politics.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but all around you feel your infrastructure slowly crumbling, ready to crush you under its unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll re-elect the OLP, raise power rates, and freeze to death in the cold abyss that is Southern Ontario. The rest of the country will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll label maps with your Indigenous name, and every airline passenger for the rest of eternity will know a failed province existed below them. Your cities will collapse and go back to the forest, and all that will remain of your legacy is a pile of rubble that was unmistakably built by corrupt developers.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
