Junk Drawer

Many attempts

12 January 2026

This goodbye is a sudden absence, a quiet, a sadness, a longing. If I could have melted into the mountains, or dissolved into the ocean to avoid the trip home, I would have.

I am surprised to discover tears welling in my eyes as the plane increases its speed along the runway. They bead down my cheeks as the wheels leave the ground. I am devastated to leave New Zealand. I have a little cry as we ascend over Christchurch and the surrounding mountains and rivers. The last time I cried on a plane was when the heart of Te Fiti was restored at the end of Moana.

Luna is watching the Jungle Book and asks for another snack. I close my eyes as we disappear into the clouds and when I open them we are over blue.

–

We walk through the Botanic Gardens, a 30 minute walk from my parents’ house. I think about when we took this walk on one of our first days in Wellington two years ago. I was overwhelmed by the many shades of green.

18 January 2026

This time we landed at night, and I knew to expect the bumpy descent into Windy Welly. This time, I also underestimated biosecurity. Some grapes languishing at the bottom of my bag were intercepted by a very nosy sniffer dog.

Last time, I feared for my life as we teeter tottered down towards the water that only gave way to a runway just in time. I was also instantly enamoured with the cityscape we were approaching. The houses in the hills, a constant backdrop to the city tracing its rugged coast.

19 January 2026

I have never seen so many shades of green. In the hills behind my parents’ house, in the botanic gardens, along the roadsides of the South Island, in the sounds of tuis and kea and kaka and the other birds we met.

21 January 2026

Some things are too fresh and delicate to commit to words right away.

Cecil’s Peak is green, brown, velvety smooth, and towers over Lake Wakatipu. The sun sets dramatically behind its left shoulder. When it starts to rain, you can see the hazy wall descend the mountain and haunt towards you until the sky is falling and the mist conceals its summit. In the book I’m reading, The Mires by Tina Mekereti, water is a character. Actually swamp is a character, and likes to remind the reader that water is everything, connects us all, knows about our pasts, our present and endures through our future.

We read on the roof while Luna naps, looking out at a cruise ship in the harbour. Time collapses and I’m looking out the guest room window at a cruise ship in the harbour as Luna writhes around and gasps and gurgles.

Why is it so hard to write about this time? I feel so overwhelmed by the prospect of capturing this little place that hold such an expanse. I have sat down many times to document three weeks, which collapses into the nearly six weeks two years prior.

The images I want to remember are: The houses in the hills. Waking up to the mountain. So many shades of green.

Platform – 18 March 2026

11 minutes until the train arrives. The sky is gray but a shimmery portal hints towards sun. I’m not wearing a winter jacket. Southeast London’s Eiffel Tower is a landmark in the distance, presiding over the middle of the tracks.

Very slowly the platform fills up and I feel increasingly protective over my spot. Under the staircase, right where the doors open.

I look at the posters on the other side of the platform, Kinky Boots has replaced Operation Mincemeat.

The passing of time, the environment, how people interact with each other. Helplessness in the face of large-scale cruelty. What can a small difference look like.

For a brief portion of the train ride, blue overtakes the grey.

Toulouse – 29 March 2026

Daniel has taken Luna for a pee and I wait in the market. My bag is heavy with une baguette, beaucoup de fromage, and so many irresistible autre choses. The people here know what they’re here for and who they’re getting it from, unlike me who was so overwhelmed and drawn in by everything on offer, I left with much more than I need.

I am most endeared to the two tiny bars that take up the final trading position at opposite corners of the market. They are the size of the other counters, but wood replaces a glass display case and old men down a glass of red as if it’s espresso before resuming their work or custom. As I dwell over various marinated items that might complement a cheese plate, Daniel has a quick beer while Luna eats a fish croquette and I miss my opportunity.

We are smug at our mediocre French and congratulate ourselves every time we complete a full interaction without reverting to English. We sit on the edge of the Praire des Filtres, a park that runs along the river, and look at the water. Luna sidles up next to an older couple on a bench. The man is wearing glasses and a fedora and looks like Leonard Cohen if taken to his natural conclusion.

Spring Things – 13 April 2026

Friends around the dinner table

Tits out at the wine bar

Baby grass

Weeds reappear

A long weekend in Toulouse

Sunny day, rainy day, cloudy day

What jacket should I wear?

A cockapoo in my lap

Friends move away

I’m not usually the one who stays