Hello to all the beautiful people that read this (or skim, that's okay too)
Today is Sunday.
Tomorrow is Monday.
On Tuesday I get on the Airport Express bus and go to the Wellington airport for a flight to Auckland. There, I will meet my parents, who I miss dearly.
Two days later(on Thursday) My partner flies in. From there we start our epic roadtrip adventure through the North and South Islands.
Oh, the excitement and joy for the prospect of being again with my most important people!
Today was kind of like my last "free day". My last roommate moved out in the morning, we had a hug, and she took her last bags and shut the door for the final time. My other flatmate had left three days earlier. We all shed tears together.
Time is not like sand in a glass. It is water. It has states, but eventually, it turns to steam. Flowing into the atmosphere and turning into some abstract cloud.
The issue with time is that the cloud will never rain again. Time is mist. Time is precious, and yet we spend about two minutes of our time thinking about how precious it really is.
As I look in the mirror this morning I see myself changed.
first of all, my face has become slimmer. My belly has diminished in size and my bum is smoother, not as lumpy with fat. I look healthy. Tan. My mouth is always in a state of having the corners upturned.
I see the face of someone who is both so fearless and also so full of fear.
I am fearless, able to take myself places and ask for what I need. I am fearless in my own free will. "Yes, I think it is important for you to do this for me.Yes, I will stay in bed for an extra thirty-minutes." "No, I don't really feel like seeing you right now. No, I don't want to finish the last three bites on my plate." I am not afraid of doing things by myself.
I am afraid of going home, back to a place that I spent so many years in, but now feel so detached from. I am afraid of talking to those people that I liked before, but my feelings have changed after I got some distance. I am afraid of bungee jumping. I am afraid of airplane turbulence.
I am afraid that when I hug you again it will feel foreign to me. But I also know that when I do, everything will come rushing back.
My skin has become cells that were made in a foreign place. The foreign place is not so foreign when I think about it. I know street names, I know the names of restaurants, the names of surrounding towns, the names of people I see crossing the street. I know when it is safe to cross the street even when the light is red. I have a dairy that I prefer going to over all the rest.
My hair has grown two inches. My nails, which i tried so desperately to stop chewing, are still short.
When I sweat, it usually smells like the ocean and sunscreen.
Dad and I talked on the phone. He asked,"what does it take to say you've lived somewhere?" I thought for a minute, sitting in bed. "You own the sheets."
This afternoon I took a hike up Mount Victoria by myself. My shoes were not up for the task but my body was. Sweat glistening on my skin, and then having it wicked away by the wind that greeted me when I made it to the lookout. Tuis flitted in and out between the Flax, rustling but making minimal noise.
Four months ago I asked my roommates at the lookout,"which one is our apartment building?"
Today, I was able to pick out every building in central Wellington by myself (okay almost every building...I'm not an expert.)
And as I stood there, surrounded by swarms of other visitors from across the world, I thought to myself,"god I'm going to miss this."
I'll be back in Wellington again nearer to the end of the month with my family. But I will never be here again within the same context. I'll never own this set of sheets again.
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