Over and Out

I can see for miles. Every mountain peak, every leafless tree, the vast stretch of a turquoise harbor. The air is light, crisp, and the sun radiant. I've never seen a more clear day in my entire life. The atmosphere feels so thin that I'm afraid we'll all be sucked into the vacuum of space. I've been looking outside, pretending that the sunlit, white apartment buildings were something out of Santorini, their harsh reflections sitting proud above the dead, winter ground. I'm not sure if I should smile, or cry, or search around my brain for a sensible emotion to reflect what's going on around me. My room is empty, the stark white walls have returned full circle, and two massive luggage bags beckon to be throw in the belly of a plane. I arrived in New Zealand yesterday, or that's what I like to think when I'm completely out of touch with reality. It has been four and a half months. Someone liquefied this country, poured it in my mouth, forced to me to swallow, and then proceeded to shake my head violently until I could no longer walk. Have you ever dreamt in a dream? You wake up to some alternate world, grateful that you're no longer sleeping, but come to the sick realization that you're in fact, still sleeping? New York is going to smack me in the face, dump cold water on my head, and blow an air horn right in my ear to wake me. It's that moment that I fear the most.

As would anyone who spent a few months in a place other than 'home', I have absolutely no words to describe this experience. I've felt emotions that I never knew could exist, my life flipped upside down. A desperate attempt to be in full control of a double life, the one I left behind in New York, and the one that I'm about to leave here in Auckland. I've been saying goodbye all day; my words feel so hollow. I'm convinced I've been an empty mass of flesh and bones for the past few hours, tear ducts completely unresponsive, my conscious thinking about nothing more than how I'm too lazy to take out the trash. It just sits there on the floor, staring me in the face. Screw it, I'll leave it for tomorrow.

Honestly, I'm afraid of home. A lot has changed. My old daily routines will no longer exist, friends have jobs, new lives, and I'll be sitting behind a desk wondering how to occupy myself through means of emotional stability. However, the smell of barbecue, the heavy summer breeze, the greenery, the shorts...my entertainment.

It's all over before it ever began. I'll never be able to live this moment again. My feet are cold, the sun is setting, the ceiling clings to a single birthday balloon, and I'm completely alone. This is the last time I'll see the sun duck below the horizon in this place. This tiny country, its oddly distributed population, the white sail of a boat loudly presenting itself against the bright, blue harbor. I'm still stuck in this damn staring contest, the past challenged me and I gladly accepted. Those tear ducts would come in handy right about now.