ADRONITIS

Nothing is worse than the frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone. Spending the first few weeks chatting in their psychological entryway, with each subsequent conversation like entering a different room, each a little closer to the centre of the house — wishing instead that you could start there and work your way out, exchanging your deepest secrets first, before easing into casualness, until you’ve built up enough mystery over the years to ask them where they’re from, and what they do for a living.

Five years embraced by the nurturing soil of Palmerston North has taught me one thing: be curious, not judgemental. Palmy isn’t a place, it’s a concept. A standard set so low, things become simple; a cherry blossom, a smile from the mongrel mob, fruity tones of a cleanskin sav rinsing down a Kapadokya halloumi salad. Trading the ocean for one of the most polluted rivers in the country wasn’t a decision made lightly, yet somehow, it’s home and it has been for a long time. As I reflect, it’s not the street names or the stupid amount of hours spent at uni that have made it that way, it’s the people. It’s hands down the people.

It’s Scotty the pyromaniac, firework at the ready, its Ellie sussing her lunches for the next week packing buffet food down her bra, it’s Cat all starry eyed watching Ollie climb to great heights to retrieve his pants. It’s Robin’s spiral of feline reels, Ella’s shower playlist, Con inhaling a noodle, Tessa going blind after too much gluten, Gecko departing with a fart. It’s Bekky channeling her inner prime minister, Amber proclaiming her hunger, Jenna’s friendship with the bouncer, Ryan corrupting the minds of children, Amelia announcing her bed time.

Nothing makes the earth so spacious as to have friends at a distance. Little bits of my heart span the four corners of the globe and it hurts like hell but aren’t I lucky to have a love that is so far reaching?