TORONTO — I arrived in Canada from Syria 10 years ago as an international student, and like every young dreamer, I was excited about my goals: perfect my English, land a starter job, move up quickly and find the love of my life — all in this land where I didn’t know a soul.

I kept my focus razor sharp on the future and didn’t dwell on the cushy life I had left behind in Syria. By 23, I had held a high-paying managerial position at Syriatel, one of Syria’s largest tech companies, and was living it up with lifelong friends in the scenic seaside town of Latakia.

In Toronto, my life was very different. My first job was the night shift at Naz’s Falafel House in the entertainment district. I cleaned washrooms and mopped floors after the weekend partygoers left. For months, I slept four hours a day, six days a week so that I could have enough time for school and for exploring the streets of the city I was quickly falling in love with.

Living in Toronto, I became well acquainted with the connotations of the words “immigrant” (hard luck, resourceful, ambitious) and “refugee” (resource-sucking, burdensome, maybe dangerous). I wanted to succeed on equal footing with those who made this country great.