IIn July 2015, while working at a restaurant in Vancouver, British Columbia, a guest took my arm and asked me if I was “okay” as I cheerily took their orders. I hadn’t realised I’d been crying – or at least, that tears were streaming from my red-rimmed eyes. I was hours into a shift on a busy patio during what, at the time, was one of British Columbia’s worst fire seasons in years, and the thick ash and smoke that choked the city’s waterfront had left my eyes and throat raw.