Rain.

I was fortunate enough to have my mom and aunt come visit me in Auckland. I snuck on the elevator, hit floor four, got out, and tapped rhythmically on the hotel door. I was greeted with hugs and kisses and my mother's characteristic cry of happiness. We would be heading up north for the weekend, attempting to escape the cold and rain that has been looming over Auckland for the past month. Luckily enough, the clouds parted, and the sun was shining not more than 40 miles outside of the city. We drove up toward the Bay of Islands (as pictured above), and ran around to Paihia, Matakohe, and Whangerei. Despite the hourly long sessions in the car believing my life was going to end in a fiery crash off a cliff side, the trip was, well, good. It was really nice seeing my mom; I'm so proud that she conjured up the guts to sit her fearful butt on a plane for 22+ hours.

Saw this bad boy solidified in a substance called Kauri Gum, from the great Kauri trees in the forest of Waipoura.

Anyway, I woke up this morning to blaring speakers, hundreds of voices, and police sirens. Despite not wanting to glance out my window due to the horrific weather that we've been having, I peeked out and saw hundred of protesters (maybe), marching down the street with signs and megaphones. They chanted in Maori, held their umbrellas, and proudly made their way down the soaked cement. I've noticed that people here will protest with the protection of the police, rather than getting beaten and tear gassed. The individuals in this 'walk' held a giant sign reading, "Our city, our rights. No supercity with us! Us! Us!" I've noticed that no matter where I go, people from New Zealand hate Auckland. They despise its infrastructure and superstructure, calling it just another city in which "Just Another Fucking Aucklander" resides. I'm absolutely terrible at keeping up with current events at home, none the less in a country whose past is completely unfamiliar to me. I wasn't exactly sure about the reasoning behind this 'protest', but my guess would have to be the lack of Maori representation and voice in the New Zealand parliament. I'll find out eventually.

I've recently come to the conclusion that I'm probably going to be a crazy cat lady when I'm older, except without the cats. Odds are you'll find me in a shack, with my great dane, Shelby, babbling monotonously to the walls. I love planning out my future as a desperate, single woman. Cheers!

Oh, cellular telephone apparatus.

Today I woke up early to the sun coming through my window. It hasn't been around much, as Auckland's been plagued with black clouds and rain for the past few weeks. I briefly sat outside to feel the heat of the sun on my face, absorbing what little time it may have left before the clouds move in again. After that I did something funny, I mean, not completely bizarre; something out of sheer curiosity. The joy I would get from this moment pulled the corners of my mouth to my ears. It's stupid...no, it really is...but I took out my cellphone from the states and plugged it into the wall, hearing that ridiculous Verizon start up tone. I grinned. I had no idea what my intentions were at this point, so I continued to scroll through the options menu, play with the once familiar ring tones, and best of all, view old text messages. At this point, I was grinning uncontrollably. Of all things, how could a cellphone put a smile on my face not more than 15 minutes after I woke up? Then I started to realize the familiarity of the object...how much of home was stored in its ridiculously small memory, the phone numbers of people who I thought I'd forgotten, and I continued to smile. Reading the text message conversations right before I left for Auckland brought back fleeting memories of saying goodbye, the sick mix of excitement and anguish, the overall feeling of blindly tossing my rattling bones into a new place, and I continued to smile. My tear ducts unknowingly welled up as things went slightly blurry for not more than a few seconds, and I continued to smile. How can such a thing make someone feel this way? I knew at that point that things would only get worse. If I decided to hold onto that piece of home longer, I would have surely broken down; every drop of homesickness pouring from my eyes. So, I shut it off, tossed it in the draw, and shared the bizarre stream of emotions that came with the simplicity of a cellphone.

Someone tell me if I'm losing it.

This past weekend was the ball...an excuse to get dressed up, drink in a beautiful hotel, and dance to live music. It was, sure enough, a ball. Pre-destination apartment party:

...And we're back.

If only I could begin to explain what the past month and a half has been like. I've felt as if I traveled the world, north to south, east to west, and have seen everything this floating lump has to offer. Reality is, I've remained in the same country I came to not longer than 12 weeks ago. Thinking of time in the span of 'weeks' as opposed to 'months' tends to elongate my already sub-par sense of reality. I sit here desperately trying to share what I've been doing, what I already have done, and what I plan to do, but I can't seem to formulate sentences that will substantially tackle the issue of explaining what's been going on in my life. I spoiled myself rotten for a month, having the pleasure of waking up next to Greg every morning...a small reminder of home. We traveled quite a significant amount in our 5x12 corridor on wheels, leaving our mark on over 2000 miles of South Island highway. To make things simple (for myself), an easy summary would consist of the words 'we', 'did', and 'a lot'. Encountered a stray penguin, jumped off a ledge with nothing but rubber bands attached to our legs, tore it up with heavy machinery on winding trails, ate shit hard on a rope swing (okay that was just me), slept in beautiful locations...blah blah blah blah. I miss that small fantasy; the feeling of reliving the same great dream over and over again, having an important part of your life show up in a city 8000 miles from home. I was frightened about the thought of 'waking up'; the immediate, relentless panic of having something disappear in an instant, and it did. That 27th day, when that stupid blue bus drove up to the curb without muttering a single sound from its engine, was when my sick fabrication of life vanished. Not more than three sentences were spoken before he left...startling as the sound of an alarm clock on a Saturday morning. Reality came out of left field with a hard right hook to my jaw. As soon as I grow used to something, it disappears. My revenge? Scoffing at that bus as its unwelcome presence glides down the road. Every day.

Let's resume. Droning lecturers, power points, feasibility studies, mini exams...Auckland. I'm not as happy as I should be. Kate, you're in New Zealand, people would kill for that. I just can't hold on to that fleeting feeling of contentedness. When you find yourself playing psychiatrist in your room on a Sunday night at 11:00, homesickness has surely reared its head. It scares me knowing that I'm on the trip of a lifetime and I've completely lost interest in everything I do. I've lost the spark. I'm counting down the days until I can again endure the miserable 23 hour trip half way across the planet. I want to wake up somewhere familiar. Feel my grey, concrete life beneath my feet again. Enjoy the heat radiating in my room from a warm, summer morning, throwing my clothes off, and getting under the sheets again with a smile on my face. It's cliche, but being far removed from something you thought you hated makes you appreciate it much more. That's how I feel with just about everything right now.

Enough of my yammering. What a cheerful post. When you don't have anyone to talk to, it's easiest to run your mouth off via HTML. This whole 8 hour time difference thing is screwing with my sanity.

If you want more, just check out photos at http://www.snapfish.com/, user name knettesheim@email.lynn.edu, password newzealand.