January 31st 2021

Today it’s a year to the day since I landed in New Zealand. Aka the last time I left the country (unless you count Scotland as a different country, which Scottish people probably do but British people probably don’t). Aka pre-covid when life was fun and there wasn’t any snow.

Instead of this last year:

I had this this week:

I think, on the surface, weighing both options against each other, I would probably lean just slightly towards being in New Zealand again.

Okay it’s not that close.

Also, what makes it more difficult is that right now, covid is barely an issue in New Zealand. I follow some people on Instagram who are still out there, and they’re all going to festivals and restaurants without a care in the world. Because they have a functioning government whose leader is more about science and safety than cash and cowardice. Soz, Boz.

I almost stayed as well. If I was less of a scaredy cat, I would have stayed. But that’s not the kind of person I am. I had a job and a flat waiting for me in England, and I’m not the kind of free spirited person who could just decide on a whim not to come home. I know that those people exist, but they don’t exist as me.

For the next three weeks Instagram is going to give me daily “one year ago” reminders of all the photos I posted while I was there (I’ve had a sneak preview, and I posted a lot — sorry about that) and it’s gonna be hard to take, given current circumstances.

Until tomorrow, maybe I should have stayed.


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