The spirit of China held my hand the whole plane ride home and Wellington welcomed me with a rare sunny spell. The airport is a Southern spit of reclaimed land. I’ve broken in there before. I lay out on the huge slabs of rock and concrete they dumped near the ocean. As the airplanes roar over you, it’s as if you’re flying too. New Zealand was always an erring world of surreal memories.
I was living in a penthouse apartment with my boyfriend, somewhere on the way to Kelburn. He had already gone to Auckland to visit his parents by the time I made it back into the country. I had not been alone for many moons. The place felt chilly and dead. The air was too still. In all honesty, it had always given me the creeps - after I got over the whole novelty of the wacky layout.