The windiest place on Earth. I don't think that's an overstatement, I mean elders used to hold on to light posts for the couple of seconds when it went crazy. I lived there for almost five months. The city is so beautiful it's kind of depressing. It is so picturesque that you always think it is unreal, that something is missing. Its beauty was so overwhelming that my profound admiration slowly changed to apathy and blindness to the natural magical scenery. I'd always find my eyes lingering on artistic graffiti on walls or any form of man-made contribution. And that's what people there did, they all had a very genuine style considering their clothes. Everyone had strange haircuts, and weird hair colors. A lot of green, blue, violet, red and rainbow heads. A lot of punks around, street performers, random citizens dancing to their music. Quarter of the population wanders the city barefoot. People go grocery shopping in pajamas and I've seen a few shopping in just their swimsuits. Plenty, plenty of gays. It almost became common to me seeing men in heels, nail polish and wearing full make up and I wouldn't flinch if two girls kissed on the bus. The individuality was loud and clear. People made out in the streets, romantically and sometimes explicitly.
That city witnessed a lot of my 'firsts'. First time to cook, first time to stay the night alone, first time to feel horribly homesick, first time to miss chaos and noise, first time to work, first paycheck, first bicycle tour in a city, first public bus ride, first jog in the streets, oh, they're countless.
I remember feeling chained when I first arrived. Like why the hell am I supposed to press a button, wait for my pedestrians signal to cross a goddamn one-lane street? That's of course normal since back home, I used to cross a four-lane highway with the sole help of prayers. I remember feeling like I'm the basic model of a human being, like way too normal for Wellingtonians, like they call themselves. I wear my hair in a normal pony tail, I wear jeans, I rarely ever wear anything but normal black eye-liner. Just a normal girl, very basic, no bizarre hair-do, vintage clothes, astounding tattoos or any of the likes. Just me, which was very unique to them apparently. I mean if you walk into a circus backstage in your denim with all the performers, freaks, artists, illusionists and extraordinary people around, you will feel odd.
The suicidal rates were relatively high. Like I said, it was so beautiful, kinda depressing.
I remember thinking 'oh, that's how it must feel if I ever walk into Tumblr'.
That city witnessed a lot of my 'firsts'. First time to cook, first time to stay the night alone, first time to feel horribly homesick, first time to miss chaos and noise, first time to work, first paycheck, first bicycle tour in a city, first public bus ride, first jog in the streets, oh, they're countless.
I remember feeling chained when I first arrived. Like why the hell am I supposed to press a button, wait for my pedestrians signal to cross a goddamn one-lane street? That's of course normal since back home, I used to cross a four-lane highway with the sole help of prayers. I remember feeling like I'm the basic model of a human being, like way too normal for Wellingtonians, like they call themselves. I wear my hair in a normal pony tail, I wear jeans, I rarely ever wear anything but normal black eye-liner. Just a normal girl, very basic, no bizarre hair-do, vintage clothes, astounding tattoos or any of the likes. Just me, which was very unique to them apparently. I mean if you walk into a circus backstage in your denim with all the performers, freaks, artists, illusionists and extraordinary people around, you will feel odd.
The suicidal rates were relatively high. Like I said, it was so beautiful, kinda depressing.
I remember thinking 'oh, that's how it must feel if I ever walk into Tumblr'.
