I’m currently mid flight between Christchurch and Wellington, New Zealand. I’ve spent the last 2 days in Christchurch for work. I used to call Christchurch home for a short time when I was married and naïve, before I became a traveller with a desire to experience the world and everything in it.
The city is still a broken shell of what it used to be after a series of large earthquakes destroyed a lot of its heritage and infrastructure. But I can feel the culture and soul of the place again. Something I haven’t felt since before the quakes. The city centre has lively pockets of workers and tourists. The sun beating down, cloudless skies above, smiling faces aboard the Tram that winds it’s way through the CBD weaving it’s way through the old, the new and the yet to be decided.
The quake dreams will never leave me. It was an experience that changed me but still doesn’t define me. It’s both humbling and refreshing to be surrounded by those who share these dreams. Who share these nightmares.
For the longest time, I’ve reflected on this city and my time in it. The way it broke me, then showed me a life that is far more than I ever imagined for myself. The way it shook some sense into me. The way it struck me in the face with many cold harsh realities.
From this trip, I leave feeling happy and blessed. Blessed for the experiences and lessons I took from it. Happy that I have found peace and that I’m homeward bound.
I am moving past my past. But I will never forget.
Lest we forget.