It all started when I went to get myself a sandwich from Whanganui East on the way to do a bit of gardening for my friend.
I was trying to be prudent because I normally skip breakfast and lunch and arrive home hangry which is never a good look.
Anyway, whenever I head over to Whanganui East (which I love, by the way), I always drive past the flat that I used to live in.
It was at the front of a driveway with another two homes further down the drive and I loved living there.
The house itself is a funny wee thing. It badly needs renovating and painting. It only has an old gas heater in the lounge and no heat pump. I didn’t care. I loved that house.
At the time I moved in, it was $380 per week rent which was a fair market price at the time considering how much the house didn’t offer, but it had a great feel about it and I knew that I’d be happy there.
I was 100% right. It was perfect and so were the neighbours, we had a real sense of community and I created some lovely memories there.
Well, as I drove past my old house and did the usual check to see that the people who lived in the house kept it as nicely as I did (nobody has), I noticed a ‘for rent’ sign on the fence.
I really wish I hadn’t seen that sign because since I have, I have wanted to move back into it so badly, but there is just no way at the moment that I have the means.
I went online and checked the rent price and it is now $540 per week.
That is when the melancholy set in. I desperately wanted my life back when I was living there. So much that it hurt my heart.
My daughter and I had been estranged for five years and she returned to me in that house.
We created new memories in that house and I guess that is why the pull to go back there is so great.
I blow dried her hair for work and delivered her to her waitressing job from there.
I made all her meals and school lunches there. Dropped her at the Spirit of Adventure from that house, and moaned and groaned at her for not pulling her weight and taking too long in the shower in that house.
I taught her to drive and we got her first car while we lived there and I had to go and pick her up at 1.30am when her battery got flat, all from that house. But it wasn’t a house – it was a home.
I’m not sure why I do it to myself to be honest.
Whenever I go back to Dunedin or Christchurch or anywhere I’ve lived for that matter, I always go past houses that I lived in and I’m always devastated that they never look as nice as when I lived in them.
I know that it’s just bricks and mortar but I have such a strong connection to wherever I’ve lived that it drives me slightly crazy.
It’s like some sort of cruel and unusual punishment. It doesn’t matter if I rent a property or have owned it, I care for it the same.
But really what I’m saying is that I miss the things that happened in the homes. To really refine it, I miss my daughter.
I can’t have that house and I can’t get her back. She lives in Wellington and is making her own way in the world.
I think I just miss having something that is just mine. I live with my parents and help run their house, but there are times that I want my old life back so much that it overwhelms me.
This is where the infinite sadness kicks in. Since then moments keep throwing themselves at me.
The crossing where she nearly hit a kid when I was teaching her to drive.
The bus stop where I dropped her for adventures, driving past Kowhai Park where she spent a lot of time with her mates and any time that I see a maroon Toyota Corolla that she used to drive I just feel sad.
It’s just a house, but the profound impact of seeing it available again has catapulted me into action.
Something has to change so I can make memories in another lovely little house.
I’m kicking the melancholy to touch and to quote Rachel Hunter in the Pantene commercial “it won’t happen overnight – but it will happen”.
