2007, as I think about it, has been like most years: ups and downs. You know how it goes: some confusion and anxiety and even a tiny bit of heartbreak, but mostly silliness and happiness and fun. It’s been pretty ordinary in terms of how I spent my time; as usual, I spent the year working and cooking dinner and hanging out with friends and going to bellydance and doing my laundry and emailing and talking on the phone and reading books and drinking hot chocolate. The thing that has been different, the thing that has been big, is that this year I fell in love: in 2007 I fell completely, wholly, irrevocably, and totally in love with Wellington, my beautiful city that gets blown by the wind off the faults into the harbour, taking me with it every day.
I’ve talked and talked and talked about it, how and why I love it here, but nonetheless I can’t seem to put a finger on it. I guess love in general is impossible to explain, you can only describe it. So: running into twelve people I know whenever I leave the house; hours and hours in the cafes; dipping ginger nuts into my tea, sitting on my pink bed in my pink room; picking my way over the rocks at the beach at Island Bay; the skaters and krumpers and b-boys at the parks; waving to Blanket Man; “Cheers driver!” getting off the bus; visiting the ducks at the Botanical Gardens; ridiculous Flight Of The Conchords lyric contests via the magic of TXT2000; having to decide between jandals and a sweater every time I leave the house; the arty magazine stacks at the library; watching Courtenay Place swirl and heave as I hop onto the night bus; the walk to and from work every day; sitting on the couch with A. giggling and watching terrible TV; looking out, out, out past the houses and buildings to the harbour, to the sea. You can’t explain, you can only describe, you can only accept and be grateful.
I like to think that I’ll be able to keep this year, this love. I’d like to think that I’ll be able to close my eyes and be here whenever I need to be in this next year that will take me away. I’d like to think that if I ever return here to live as I so desperately want to, that there will be no awkwardness or transition, that Wellington and I will pick up where we left off, that wherever I go from here will bring me back. I would like, very much, to think that this year has been just the beginning of a great grand affair.