Katie Holland: Home is more than just a house

Katie Holland

There was a moment a few weeks ago when I realised Rotorua had finally become my home. And it made me grin like a crazy woman.

It was the middle of an ordinary work day and I was walking down Tutanekai St. As I walked, I passed someone I knew and we exchanged cheery hellos.

Seconds later, I heard my name and someone else was waving out to me from the other side of the road. Then, just as I passed the Pig, another familiar face. Three hellos in three minutes.

Those born and raised here would probably be disappointed with that tally and wonder where everyone was hiding. I swear people who grew up in this town know every Tom, Dick and Harry in Rotorua.

But it put a big smile on my face as it dawned on me Rotorua had gone from being a place I was living to my home. It hadn't been easy getting to that point, as other new arrivals may or may not have experienced.

I admit I struggled when I first moved to Rotorua 18 months ago, knowing no one.

People tell you to take up hobbies and join clubs to meet new people but, in reality, I was busy enough getting to grips with a new career and trying to get my life sorted. Plus I'm not really a hobby sort of girl. Which (and, yes, call me a saddo) meant quite a few Saturday nights in with the TV, thinking longingly of the friends left behind on the other side of the world. I know, bring out the violins.

People were welcoming but, completely understandably, they had their own lives to worry about. They had friends, families, jobs, hobbies - often mountain biking or running or some other outdoorsy pursuit that still makes me feel woefully inadequate. So it took time, as everyone said it would, and while there's still the odd Saturday night in with the Real Housewives they're now usually by choice.

Home means different things to different people. For some, they'll only ever have one home; where they were born, where their roots are. I have several - New Plymouth where I spent my childhood will always be "home home"; in Wellington, I went from a shy teenager to a semi-confident young adult; Toronto, where I learned to live with bed bugs and Cork, with its non-stop craic, were fleeting yet real homes. Then there was London, a city that sucks you in whether you like it or not.

Now I can add Rotorua to that list. I suspect I will look back on it as the "home" where I became a grown-up. It took a while, but better late than never.

Where I discovered what it means to love your job.

Where I bought my first house and experienced the excitement of owning a wheelbarrow and three lemon trees.

Where I made friends who will come to your rescue when you're forced to flee your home in pyjamas late at night. Because being a grown-up doesn't mean you have to deal with mice.

I've discovered home can be as simple as having people to wave to as you go about your day. Which is why I was grinning my head off down Tutanekai St that day.

It's good to be home.