Flyaway Kiwi

Kiwi remembers, back in her uni days, being absolutely fascinated by the tourists of Auckland. Especially the backpacking kind. She’d see them climbing the Albert Park trees in their hiking boots and harem pants, some would have dreadlocks, others would don all-weather gear. They were distinct from the mass of students and suits to-and-froing along Queen Street. They had Austrian accents and Spanish facial hair, they would stop to take pictures and consult their maps and were never without their trusty backpacks.

She wondered, what do they take pictures of? What do they see here? Are they as happy as they look?

She wanted her turn. To be just like them. To see the beauty and life in the ordinary.

In Europe it was her turn. She traipsed past locals, backpack behind her and marvelled at their everyday world. It was even better than she had imagined.

Now, back in…

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