RL: Nostalgia not being what it used to be.
As weeks go, this has been one. I find that happens more and more these days, don't you?
Moments various and sundry of flashbacks to my former lives have been plaguing me this week. By which I don't mean that 17th century when I was a Chinese farmer once, or that other 11th century as a plague pit digger. No.
The lives I've lived in this lifetime have been many and varied and taken me in all sorts of odd directions, meaning that when I'm having a week when my senses overwhelm me with reflex-triggered reminiscences, I have diverse moments of reja-vu - I feel like I'm living what I've already lived.
Mostly it's been fun and interesting: A drive along a suburban road that unexpectedly reminded me exactly of Don Valley, Toronto, even though we've driven this particular road dozens of time and it's never before given me that impression: The smell and taste of New Zealand marmite, given to me on toast, from the minuscule and increasingly valuable diminishing supply held by a friend, which immediately transported me back to swimming lessons in an open pool on cold winter days, and being given Milo and toast as comfort by my mother afterward: Music tonight on the drive home; the radio playing a selection of 80's rock hits that put me squarely back in the clubs I used to frequent before anyone thought ID cards might be a good idea...
To start with they were fun and intriguing moments, but they've taken an increasingly sinister turn as the week wore on, leaving me suspended in a state of unnamed foreboding for reasons I couldn't understand. The sense of urgency, the need to move up all our plans for a visit home and ensure we said hello to family in person before it was too late.
And then unexpectedly tonight I understand.
Next week we head off to Redemption. It's one of the most laid-back, enjoyable, fan-centered conventions in the UK, held every two years. We're gearing up as I type to do service as part of the Tech Crew, ensuring everyone gets to hear the guests on stage, that there will be mics in the right rooms at the right times (hopefully), and to film everything that ever happens anywhere. Oh, and lay cable. And tear it back up again. And lay it down again. And tear it back up again. Etc.
So we were doing this two years ago. Right at the time the quake hit Christchurch.
It's been two years, and even though Christchurch itself is moving on, it seems the underneath of my brain hasn't let go yet. It's yet to have the chance to see it in person, to take it all in. Pictures I see on the net do not look like Christchurch to me. This is not the city I remember, and it never will be again. And the time to lay the memories to rest is running out.
Clarity can be a bitch sometimes, right?
Moments various and sundry of flashbacks to my former lives have been plaguing me this week. By which I don't mean that 17th century when I was a Chinese farmer once, or that other 11th century as a plague pit digger. No.
The lives I've lived in this lifetime have been many and varied and taken me in all sorts of odd directions, meaning that when I'm having a week when my senses overwhelm me with reflex-triggered reminiscences, I have diverse moments of reja-vu - I feel like I'm living what I've already lived.
Mostly it's been fun and interesting: A drive along a suburban road that unexpectedly reminded me exactly of Don Valley, Toronto, even though we've driven this particular road dozens of time and it's never before given me that impression: The smell and taste of New Zealand marmite, given to me on toast, from the minuscule and increasingly valuable diminishing supply held by a friend, which immediately transported me back to swimming lessons in an open pool on cold winter days, and being given Milo and toast as comfort by my mother afterward: Music tonight on the drive home; the radio playing a selection of 80's rock hits that put me squarely back in the clubs I used to frequent before anyone thought ID cards might be a good idea...
To start with they were fun and intriguing moments, but they've taken an increasingly sinister turn as the week wore on, leaving me suspended in a state of unnamed foreboding for reasons I couldn't understand. The sense of urgency, the need to move up all our plans for a visit home and ensure we said hello to family in person before it was too late.
And then unexpectedly tonight I understand.
Next week we head off to Redemption. It's one of the most laid-back, enjoyable, fan-centered conventions in the UK, held every two years. We're gearing up as I type to do service as part of the Tech Crew, ensuring everyone gets to hear the guests on stage, that there will be mics in the right rooms at the right times (hopefully), and to film everything that ever happens anywhere. Oh, and lay cable. And tear it back up again. And lay it down again. And tear it back up again. Etc.
So we were doing this two years ago. Right at the time the quake hit Christchurch.
It's been two years, and even though Christchurch itself is moving on, it seems the underneath of my brain hasn't let go yet. It's yet to have the chance to see it in person, to take it all in. Pictures I see on the net do not look like Christchurch to me. This is not the city I remember, and it never will be again. And the time to lay the memories to rest is running out.
Clarity can be a bitch sometimes, right?