Christchurch

The famed lunette (procured on my first day in Christchurch, of course) 

This was going to be a different kind of post. I began it two days ago, fresh off the plane and full of thoughts on airports and arrivals and apathy. "Quippy" might have characterised its tone, with a dash of "biting" thrown in. After the past few days, though, my voice has taken on a different quality. "Grateful" makes for a much sweeter sound, as does "humble". I find myself singing a new, gentle song. 

***

I came back to Christchurch with my guard firmly up. The memory of Malaysia lingered long, and I was keen to be in and out, no unnecessary dalliances with the past or future in family conversations. The present was to be tackled with a grim, let's-get-on-with-it attitude. As you can imagine, I was a delight to be around. As time went on, however, and my brothers coaxed me out on excursions and rightly poked fun at my too-serious attitude, I found myself experiencing not just the usual potent mix of nostalgia and claustrophobia that hits me as soon as I step off the plane, but genuine, profound joy. 

This is grace, of course; God alone has granted me perspective, the ability to forgive my family, and a renewed hope when it come to relationships, familial or otherwise. I left Auckland in something of a state, having passed a harder-than-usual birthday and feeling like my future, in all ways but one (work), was unsteadier than ever. Arriving in Christchurch, to a family that loves me when I am glum, and seeks to cheer me up and call me on, has been a gift. 

***

Being on holiday here has provided more space than I have been able to find recently. My Christchurch mornings have been slow, and I have allowed myself the luxury of waking up without an alarm. I have moved through the day at a sometimes-glacial pace, and haven't felt bad about doing so. I have been on walks to Halswell Quarry and thrillingly-fast runs around my flat neighbourhood. I have read - a lot - and picked up new books that have challenged and invited me into newer levels of ambition and intimacy with and for God. I have fallen asleep on two separate occasions during Spider Man: The Boring Multiverse or whatever it's called (sorry, brothers). 

The days have been sunny, the catch-ups delightful, and the lunettes (my favourite French pastry, which despite having conducted a thorough search, I cannot find in Auckland), delicious. The past six days have, in short, allowed me to breathe. All that crisp Canterbury air has been good for my being. 

***

Tonight, I spent the afternoon and evening with M & L. No matter how much time has passed, we can pick up where we left off, old and new jokes flowing easily as we navigate the strangely-bustling Christchurch streets. We stop off at a couple of op-shops in New Brighton, where I find a denim jumpsuit, continuing my ongoing transformation into Jumpsuit GirlTM .  We then head to C1 in the city; one of the only cafés that's still open at this hour of the day. Over curly fries and hot chocolates, we debrief jobs and family, relationships and dating. 

I share with them a situation I'm not sure about, one in which the road forks off into two vastly different options: take a leap of faith into the unknown, or remain in the land of hypotheticals. Sitting forward in her velvet-lined seat, M makes her case: "Hypotheticals don't matter - it's the real that counts. You can't live in a world of hypotheticals." The truth of this hits me almost violently. She's right, and yet, am I brave enough to trade in my unknown yet safe hypothetical for a risky-either-way truth? 

M & L & I have known each other long enough to make it through some hard times and hard conversations. Our interactions tonight weren't without conflict, but we worked through them carefully and in good faith, as friends do. I hugged them both goodbye and thanked God again that I have their funny, thoughtful, whip-smart presence in my life. 

***

I am back in Auckland now - the Promised Land or something like it. It's certainly been land that has stretched me in unexpected ways. The next few days will bring a return to normalcy (or something like it) and I will go back to my early-morning starts and late work finishes. The anxiety that fell off me in Christchurch is worming its way back into my chest again - but I find myself fleeing back to the Lord and pleading for him to alleviate it. I know he will, and that he's at work in me. 

The cool Canterbury air may be a distant memory, but the peace that it brought doesn't have to be. Long may it linger. 

Weekend with a Brother

I caught him eventually

Jeremiah is a tall, lean weed. I am back home for the weekend and as I climb into the backseat of our Nissan Tiida at the airport I am delighted to find him there, limbs folded awkwardly against the driver's seat.

"Kuch!" I say, using my current preferred nickname for him as I lean over to hug him around the shoulders. With no place to escape, he allows me to hold him for a rare minute, grinning sheepishly as I lean my head against his shoulder.

"Hi Ka," he says. I am the only sibling for which he uses the proper Tamil term of respect. Jonathan has been "Thathy" since the nickname first proceeded out of Jeremiah's mouth at age two, a fact my middle brother has now grudgingly resigned himself to.

We catch up and spend most of the car ride home planning out our weekend, making sure the weekend's big football matches are slotted into our schedule.

***

At home, we fall back on our old tradition of sleeping in the living room. I claim the couch and Jeremiah drags his mattress from his room to occupy the space where the coffee table usually sits.

He lets me pick what I want to watch before we go to bed. I land on Brooklyn Nine Nine and we cycle through three episodes before falling asleep.

***

The next morning we wake up after our football game has started and find that each side has already scored two goals, a mere twelve minutes in. Jeremiah tosses me a glare, as if I am somehow responsible for this almost-unheard of scoreline and have deliberately kept him from witnessing it.

I throw my hands up in apology and we watch the rest of the insanity unfold from our temporary camp on the couch.

***

Around lunchtime, Jonathan makes an appearance in the kitchen, itching to get out and do something. We settle on a drive out to Sheffield, for pies.

As Jonathan drives and talks to Jeremiah, I silently marvel from the passenger seat.

Somehow, without my knowledge and certainly without my permission, Jeremiah has grown up.

He is no longer the silent presence when Jonathan and I are chatting about politics and celebrities and the pitfalls of social media.

He has thoughts on Billie Eilish and 'Old Town Road'. He has 424 Instagram followers!

My baby brother - the one I used to carry around on my non-existent nine-year-old hips and who paid me for my services by violently tugging on my hair - is gone. He is gone and has somehow been replaced with this ever-growing fourteen-year-old with newly-straightened teeth and the beginnings of a moustache on his upper lip.

***

I spend most of the weekend trying to wrap my arms around his skinny waist, pressing my nose to his hard, bony shoulder. He resists my attempts with quick, precise movements.

He spends most of the weekend gently torturing our mother. "Carroll!" he exclaims as he grabs her cheeks, which he proclaims to be the softest he has ever encountered. She struggles against him before accepting her fate.

***

We stay up late on Saturday night to watch the Tottenham-Man City game. It's an 11:30 start and by the end of the first half I've turned my back on the TV and decided to surrender to sleep. I know that he will man the remote.

I drift in and out over half-time and most of the second half, vaguely picking up the fact that Man City have scored at some point. Somewhere around the 90-minute mark I sense that the space beside me has gone quiet and turn over to see that he has fallen asleep, shirt off and mouth open on his mattress.

I sit up and stare at him for a moment. Despite the fact that he is now the night owl and taller than me and absolutely insistent that he is grown up, I am still his big sister - I am the adult. Sometimes - just sometimes - he will fall asleep before me and I will have to reach over and gently take the remote from him, aim it at the TV and turn out the light.

I return to my spot on the couch and fall asleep instantly.

***

The next day he gives no indication of having revealed a chink in his grown-man armour.

"You fell asleep before the game ended last night!" I say, grinning triumphantly.

He frowns. "Yeah, but I know what the score was."

I don't push it further.

***

On Tuesday morning I wake up at 6 and get ready in the dark. We had decided the day before that three of us - me, my mum and Jeremiah - would get to the airport early and have breakfast before my flight left.

At 6am, though, Jeremiah is no longer amenable to this plan. In the fashion of teenagers everywhere he wants to be left alone to fall back into the deep recesses of sleep.

I'm disappointed but I resist the urge to persuade him. Instead, I lean down over his mattress on the living room floor and wrap my arms once more around his protruding shoulders.

Again, with no escape, he lets me, grunting out a goodbye before burrowing back down under the covers.

I'm sad that he won't be following us to the airport, but I understand. He loves me in the fourteen-year-old way that cannot be stirred to do anything at 6am, let alone farewell sisters who will be back at some point.

I take my bag and pull the door shut behind me.

He sleeps on.