Goodbye Christchurch, Hello Melbourne

My 15th and final day in New Zealand will technically be short—sleeping at the Christchurch Airport (the lengths I go to save a wee bit of money), then checking in at 4am, in preparation for my 7am flight to Melbourne. My Nintendo DS has been fully charged plus I have a depressing book—read halfway—in the form of The Memory Keeper’s Daughter to keep me company for these 8-9 hours I have to kill. Perhaps I’ll sleep on the soft cloth-encased seats of the airport, or revel in the hot showers provided free at the airport. Perhaps I’d bathe myself with my usual end-of-trip contemplations, assessing and dissecting what I should’ve done, should not have done.

So. I sit here on the seats with my backpack on one end, ready for my head to lay upon it. Soon I’ll lose myself in my DS or my book before submerging myself in light, paranoid sleep. This would prolly be the longest airport stayover I’ve ever had, ready to leave, ready to go.

I didn’t find my soul in its entirety here in New Zealand after all, but merely a fragment that readies me towards an even harsher self-fulfilling journey that lays ahead. Perhaps these remaining fragments are closer than I think, but for now, a
fragment is better than none at all.