And so it begins.
The inexorably painful wait.
Five days - till the lights of the tall buildings and shiny cars and heat of the heavy air melt around me, into the emptiness of the mountains and soft grass, and the chill of the weather.
This trip, this journey, long anticipated for months since last December. And yet, dreaded by those around me, who fear the change it might bring. Their dread is even stronger than that of mine, a despiser of change of all forms.
Perhaps some of them carry visions of a new me: some sort of alienated monster; standoffish, reclusive and devoid of humanity. I can only scoff at their concerns, for they think that it is New Zealand that will change me.
Yes, it will have sort of effect on me. But morphing from the old me, to the new one, was not brought on by New Zealand. It was not brought on by the people around me, for I have had people surrounding me my entire life.
It was me.
I decided to change.
So this, ah, transformation will be brought on by none other than myself. I shall change if I wish to, yet it is not as easy as it once used to be. Already, I find traces of this skin (that I wear with such ease) seeping into me.
Call it an identity crisis. Me, myself and I, on a journey to find a lost soul to sew onto the insides of this body/vessel.
Though I may come back on the eleventh unchanged, it will not matter. To find one's soul, is, perhaps, a search that will last a lifetime.