A letter to me

"I have found, that if you love life, life will love you back." - Arthur Rubinstein

When I left home in November 2010, I'm not sure what I was looking for. Maybe just an escape, a break from the constraints of what society had told me to do - study, work, marriage, babies, rinse and repeat, retire and then you can start doing what you want to do. Maybe I was just running away from a broken heart. I don't really know anymore.

I had no idea I'd be gone for so long. Although I had a brief stint home in February of last year because of the earthquake, and more recently just to visit again, I've been gone almost two years - it will be 23 months before I finally 'move' home.

I've learned some big lessons along the way, those that I doubt I could have learned without pushing myself well out of my comfort and into the deep unknown. 

In November 2010, when I was in Thailand, I remember feeling moved to pray. I lit some incense and sat before a temple and all that I could think to ask the universe was (I'm not religious) for the ability to find joy in unusual places.

And since then, I've found it in the strangest places.

After the devastating earthquake, I tried to learn perspective. In that, although things were awful for me in that period of time and there was so much hurt in my family, that life could still be good. I searched for a similar beauty to that found in the truth that "the ocean never stops kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it is sent away" - there's a beauty in perseverance, even more so when it's harder, when it hurts more.

Almost a year ago I was stabbed in Indonesia, which is one of the most frightening experiences of my life. A few days after the attack, I learned to forgive in a way like never before. I could understand my attackers motivations and instead of feeling resentment or anger, I just felt a blanket of contentment and appreciation; for something terrible happened and I was fine.

I'm not really sure when it happened, when exactly I fell in love with life. But somewhere along this trip, I've developed the biggest crush on my world. There's a lot of sadness in this world, but I choose not to take it on board, too often. 

I think stripping away my materialistic positions, my attachment to a tangible home and my consumer lifestyle has opened up a lot of space within me to take life in. I notice things that I never used to. I have a greater affection for sunsets, the taste of food, and how sunshine feels when it dances on your skin. It's as if all of my attachment towards things has shifted towards experiences and they have become my priority in life.

I've been living in Madrid for three weeks now. It's the second place in the world that I've moved to without visiting first and it's the second time this has been one of my wisest decisions, ever. This city is more alive than any I've visited before. There's something infectious and fun about Madrid. All of the foreigners I've met who are living here are secretly plotting ways to extend their stays. I would be too, if I didn't have something so magic waiting for me at home.

One day, I'll return. But for now I'm so grateful that I'm spending this summer in Spain. I'm loving life and it's loving me right back. 

So, this is just a little note, to remind myself all that I've learned and loved since I left.

Distance

So, it's been a while *waves hand*. Since I last wrote here a lot has changed, I dealt with the first anniversary of losing my aunty, I flew to America for Coachella and had my camera stolen, I visited Mexico and ate too much Mexican food and then I boarded a flight back to New Zealand, the first time being home in ten months. Oh, I also made a website, it's travel related and I'd love for you to go check it out:

                         The Wrong Way Home


I didn't expect much from my trip home, a few hellos, cuddles, giggles and I planned to be back on my merry traveling way. Except sometimes life isn't so linear, sometimes the lines are a bit curvy. Or if you're me the lines seem to criss cross over each other into a linear tangled mess, so to speak. I arrived in Auckland, a place I called home before I left for my adventures and just felt uneasy. It was great to be surrounded by the familiar and familiar faces, but I just didn't feel right; something felt wrong. I was overwhelmed with a lack of ease, for no apparent reason. In hindsight I wonder if my body sensed that I was on the verge of great change.

It wasn't until I arrived in Christchurch, somewhere I'd long disregarded as being "home", that everything fell into place and I continued to fall, hard. Life is ironic. I remember when I wrote a blog post here about how happy I was, only for a massive earthquake to destroy my city and family a few days later. Recently, on my website, I wrote about the downsides of long term travel, the sacrifices you make, and one of them being basically giving up on the idea of being in a relationship for the foreseeable future.

And then I met someone.

Someone who just happens to be living with my very good friends, in my old flat, in my old room. I'm not even kidding. He's the kind of someone that makes all the previous someones that ever existed seem like blinking moments of unclarity. Have you ever met someone and been convinced, for the first few days, that you've met them before? That you know them, inside and out, when it's absolutely not possible. The someone who you feel better for knowing, for being around, because they bring out the best in you. Someone where the chemistry and conversation are so intense, that neither is better than the other, they just seem to be All Of Everything.


 I found someone like that, felt things I didn't even know were possible, and you know what I did?

 I left. 



Well, that's not quite true, I extended my time in Christchurch by a few weeks, then it got to the point where I was cutting into my time in Hong Kong and Europe, so I left. I boarded a flight to Sydney, where I am at the moment.



It just feels weird, a part of me knows that if it is what I think it is, then this will be a blink in our time together. The start of something. This will be an opportunity for us to grow as individuals, focusing on what we need to do, until I'm back in New Zealand in the summer time. But there's a big part of me, a loud part, that's nagging inside my head. The voice that keeps reminding me that I've never had anything like this before, and it's something I adore, and for those two reasons alone I should take the next flight back home and see what it will be.


Today was my first day in Sydney and I was woken up at 6:45am by my friend's alarm. I proceeded to roll around in bed, sulking, until well after lunch time. I feel deflated, literally. As if I was a balloon blown up, with helium even, floating around happily until reality came up in the form of a sharp pin and my balloon carcass went flying around the room, crashing into a wall and sliding down to the ground.


Okay, maybe that's being a bit dramatic, but maybe not. I guess the thing that scares me is the simple fact that I've never had anything like this. I've had boys I've liked, dated, loved, whatever - but this is different. There's no single thing that I can point at and nominate it as the cause of difference, it's just a collective difference. Whatever it is, it is special and my instinct is to do anything in my power to allow it to be whatever it will be.

But I'm trying to make myself follow through with my plans of spending the summer in Europe, even if it feels really unnatural, because I want to learn Spanish, so that I can withdraw my kiwisaver and to enjoy a European summer. I understand that any relationship requires compromise in order for it to work, but I feel like too often people compromise themselves for those that they care about.

I'm trying to find a middle ground between being All Of Me and the possibility of an us and it's not easy.

Here's some silly photos with my best friend to cheer things up, a bit.

Twenty four

It’s an age I never gave much attention to – it seems just like a stepping stone to a more significant milestone (twenty.five) or another place in time. But it’s what I’m calling home for the next year, so I think it’s important to set a few things straight.

I’ve changed in the past few years. I like flowers now, it’s true – but I like them alive and potted. I’d prefer a bonsai tree. Remember my love affair with coffee? Well, it’s over; the divorce is in the mail. The smell of a good brew still makes me a little weak at the knees, but I’m fighting it because I know it’s not good for me. I love tea – tea is helping me survive this bitter and cold winter. Oh winter… this year I fell in love with two things at exactly the same moment: the crunching, dipping sound that your feet make when you walk on snow and the child-like satisfaction of running in the morning and making the first prints. Every time my boots carve their portraits into the snow I feel a slight sense of ownership: this is my world.

I like men who are tall. The guys who offer to carry my bag, so I can insist on carrying it myself. I like paying the bill. I treasure that awkwardness that comes with getting to know someone. The deep unknown; whether you should plunge or to swim away. I adore men in scarves (thank you very much Europe). Letting myself get lost in the feeling of someone resting their hand on the small of my back. I’ve noticed that all Italian men, so far, smell delicious. I love friends who don’t know the meaning of distance, or refuse to let it define our friendship. I’ve learned that sinking feeling that comes when I look at a globe and see how far away New Zealand is – the furthest far away that I’ve ever seen. How can such a small place contain so much wonder and so many wonderful people? I’m looking forward to visiting home; but, absolutely equally, I’m looking forward to leaving again. I’m thankful that regardless of how dark the day is, how lonely the night, another day always greets me in the morning. Glitter is, still, cocaine for my eyes.

Only recently, it seems, did I realize how gray my eyes are – and how much I like that about them. Now I wear my hair curly more often than straight. Straight hair is reserved for two occasions: when I’m traveling so it’s more comfortable to lean back in buses/cars/trains/planes and for when I want to feel a little more dashing – oh and apparently at twenty four I use words such as dashing and charming at an uncanny rate. I don’t care so much about expensive things anymore because I know I don’t want to take them to Takeo. Ah Takeo, since I’ve left I often wonder how long you’ll keep my heart hostage there? My one guilty want is an iPhone, but I know I don’t need one. The battle of need vs want is something that I’m sure will continue forever, but I’m getting a little wiser. Wise enough to know I’ve got a lot to learn.

I still have the urge to go everywhere - it’s innate. I’m learning to accept that it’s okay to not follow the middle working class life cycle: school, high school, university, good job, good partner, good house, good babies, good life – retirement and finally getting to do those things you always wanted to – oh, but only if you make it this far. Going against the grain is harder, because there’s no obvious next step. But I’m choosing to pursue happiness and not wealth. I’m letting myself experience uncertainty instead of routine. I’m taking chances instead of wondering and maybe most importantly of all: I’m living instead of merely being alive.

Here’s to twenty four, in all its glory. Here’s to another crazy adventure, like nothing before.

This song is delicious

February

February used to be my month: no one else in my immediate family had a birthday in February, so I claimed it as my own. As a child it was the highlight of my year - filled with cake, presents, attention and sunshine. I relished February.

As I got a little older, February meant something more; there was valentines day shared with flames and two of my favourite people in the world have birthdays either side of mine - February became more of an "us" thing, for all the right reasons.

The beginning of last February was incredible; I was in Cambodia, volunteering, with some of the most amazing people I've ever met. My days were spent biking along the fiery dirt roads, helping to teach English to beautiful little souls, smiling so hard my face hurt, late night chats on the balcony (with some $2 whiskey in hand) and I felt a level of contentment like nothing before. Most often people go on holiday to have a rest, to relax their mind. Takeo is the holiday for my heart. I can't really explain it further than that, but anyone who's been there will know what I mean. It was the most wonderful place to spend a birthday.

It was a hard decision to leave Takeo, especially as I had a month spare. But India felt like the right move and on the 21st of February I flew to Calcutta. And on the 22nd of February everything changed.February is no longer just a month of celebration, this year it marks an anniversary my greatest loss and the saddest, darkest few days of my life. Although my birthday is two weeks before, this is my first birthday without her. And while I really should have come to terms with everything and the permanence of it all, I guess I quite simply haven't. It may sound trivial, but somehow her not being able to wish me a happy birthday makes everything a little too real. It is with a heavy heart that I welcome my 24th year, but I'm ready.

And it may in fact be a little too ironic that this year looks to be the year I become an aunty. It's funny how life sometimes works like that. Hakuna matata.