So long long ago, one event triggered my 5 years of travel. I decided it was a cute little story and decided to write it. If you think it's any good let me know, I might turn these individual experiences into some form of collection or novel!
Prologue:
It was raining outside. This was not surprising, as here, it was always raining during winter. New Zealand’s native title is Aotearoa, or “the land of the long white cloud”, and today it lived up to its name. The gloom was pervasive and accompanied by the ever present damp feeling, as much present inside as it was outside and only adding to the chill of winter.
Gareth surveyed this cheery view outside the window, feeling the seasonal depression that personified winter dragging down his soul. He was wrapped in a thick blanket, wearing an oversized but comfy grey hoodie and several layers (including thermals) underneath. Somehow, he was still cold, and if he concentrated, he could see his breath in a fine mist in front of him, even here inside his small house.
Why was insulation seemingly the last thing on anyone’s mind when they built houses in New Zealand he wondered. Perhaps it was because most building took place in summer, where the heat and sunlight were so intense it was as if the season would persist through all eternity, driving away all thoughts of the dreary wet cold that was to follow.
He sighed, realizing he was in his usual mental spiral of negative thoughts and tried to change his mindset to focus on the one positive aspect of the day he had to look forward to: a Skype call with a good friend from England who, as they had met in summer and spent some wonderful holiday time together, was associated with pleasant connotations such as sunscreen, late night bush walks under the stars, and the glorious white and blue of the beach. Ironically, the beach was a somewhat trying place to be during summer as well, full of sand that wormed its way into every crevice and morsel of food, and whose shores of blinding white were always too hot to walk on. Still, these niggles were forgotten in the rosy memories of vivid green trees, aquamarine waters and the laughter of friends.
His laptop binged cheerily at that moment, and thankfully leaving the drizzly view outside, Gareth walked over, a slight thrill of anticipation building in his chest.
Clicking on, Sam appeared, her smile happy and somewhat reserved as she ever was. Memories rushed back immediately as Sam’s very particular (and though he would never admit it to her, really rather posh) accent floated the multi-thousand mile journey from sunny England to New Zealand. Ha, he thought, sunny England. Now there was an oxy-moron if ever there was one. Revising this thought immediately, he realized he based that idea on the stories those lucky few he had known who had actually been to this mythical land, and he determined once again to see the truth behind the tales for himself one day.
Their conversation was light, easy and heartfelt, dancing around the almost romance that had never quite happened, but in a way that somehow strengthened the relationship rather than lending any awkwardness to it.
After a summary of life events up to that point, Sam launched an unexpected thought to Gareth.
“You know, my mum said the craziest thing the other day. I was chatting about that time we went to see the glow worms in the forest, do you remember? And she, out of nowhere, said I should invite you to England for Christmas!”
“I, ah, what?” said Gareth, taken aback by this rapid change of subject.
“I know it’s almost impossible and you’ll never be able to make it” A slight twinge of annoyance that always accompanied people telling him he couldn’t do things flashed through his mind but he forced himself to refocus immediately
“but she was so impressed with how well you took care of me while I was poorly, and I know she would dearly love to meet you, so yes, you are invited to spend Christmas in England with my family!”
“Ha” replied Gareth, in his usual default to laid back light hearted expressions “well I have to admit that would be awesome. I mean not just England and all that but to see you and spend a real England Christmas with the family and wot not- it would actually be the fulfillment of a dream I’ve had for years, reading all those books like James Herriot and imagining the snow covered hillsides and rolling green of England, next to a roaring fire in a stone house and so on. Huh” His mind drifted off, imagining just what it might be like to do something as mad as that. Soon enough though, the impracticalities of such a decision began to invade these happy imaginings in the way the whine of a mosquito can shatter the peaceful bliss of a night in bed.
“Well thank your mum for the invite anyway, and let her know that should I win the lotto or my house burns down and therefore no longer requires mortgage repayments I’m right there ok?” He smiled with genuine thankfulness, though as the conversation progressed and eventually ebbed, the nagging thought of a Christmas away in England never truly left. It sat, patiently on the periphery of his thoughts, and he stubbornly ignored it, not wishing to indulge in flights of such wonderful fancy only to come crashing back to the damp grey of his house in Papakura.
The conversation ended amicably with promises to catch up more often, and as he pottered about for the rest of his Saturday doing mindless house chores that needed doing, he was annoyed to realize the ‘blissful Christmas experience’ idea, as his subconscious had so helpfully labeled it, had still not gone, but instead rather obnoxiously interjected itself to the forefront of his thoughts every few minutes.
Finally, after a particularly fine rendition of a foofighters song was interrupted by this errant thought, he said out loud to himself “stop it, alright? It’s not going to happen. You have a job, a mortgage, a house, and all of that isn’t going away. Just let it go! You can do it later, when things have calmed down and you actually have some spare disposable income”.
Although he was rather proud about the eloquence and logic of this statement, he realized it didn’t bring the usual acceptance of his present reality that it normally did. He frowned, exasperated with himself and, as was often a habit of his, began to argue with himself “Look yes, I want to, it would be amazing to see England after all the tv shows and books you’ve read about it, not to mention see Sam and her family and a bit more of the place. But you have a house, and no money. End of story.”
As he thought it over, these arguments solidified, growing stronger and stronger. He was in an incredibly fortunate place- barely 30 and owning his own home in a market that had become almost impossible to buy into, he was one of the youngest people in the entire country to have his particular teaching job, which had come about as the result of a minor miracle, and was earning a good wage with low time constraints, which allowed him to indulgence an exorbitant amount of time and money on of one of his greatest passions- the gym. All of this progress he had worked so hard for could be lost with an extended and very expensive trip.
He sighed, deeply, knowing his fortunate condition yet seemingly unable to really appreciate it. But it would be the height of foolishness to give it up now, and he was never one to take risks with the bird you had in your hand.
Finally acceptance dawned, unwelcome but inevitable, and he sighed again, looking out automatically at the rain running in lines down the window, pooling at the bottom of his surprisingly expensive but poorly insulated home.
He really was lucky, and he knew it. So many would never have anything like the kind of life he lived right now.
Looking up, he smiled to himself, proud of his little home and his accomplishments so far, and said
“I think I’ll sell my house”.
Comments