pining for black velvet and southern comfort...

just spent a few hours at a city Japanese bar with my friend. reminiscing and drinking, considering our sensitivities. Sensitivities that may drown us in a doldrum of depression... Drinking more, and bitching how the "white world" made us..
what is this white world? I know its just a perception, and people are just people. humanity is a shattered mirror. every shard reflects a different picture.

Its a shame our forefathers passed this onto us, but we are the future. there is a brighter tomorrow. (clean your shard and stay sharp)...

As we talked, I suddenly remembered how much I truly miss my little town of Levin.
What? I said I hated it. And I love it also.
Auckland is as I have imagined it, and I love it so. I actually now change my mind and will consider raising children up here. But I would also raise them in a country town as well.
the things that I am sore for, is peace. a sense of timelessness. snow dusted on my mountain peaks, a thick mist hiding the hillsides. seeing for miles around, watching a dark curtain of rain pull over the distance. Sunset under a glorious sky, and homely sounds of neighbors cooking.
Clean air and sweet sent of flowers in the night. manuka wood smoke smells in winter. Fresh cut grass in summer. Hammocks and books under fresh green leaves in spring. Perfect temperatures in autumn.
Perhaps my accent is so, because levin is my "american" southern comfort. I perceive southern usa as hot and humid afternoons on the porch, cowboy boots and drinking whiskey on the rocks.
"sun is setting now like molasses in the sky". beautiful. beautiful life.

Levin is my place of creativity. I have not picked up a loaded paintbrush since i came to auckland. I have written some creative proses. that has since died...
Here is my place to absorb all that I had missed in that small town. here is my place to mature and grow in so many ways. I am going to study again next year. as soon as I can - I dont want to wait any more.
Perhaps I will spend my holidays with my father... In that heart-breakingly small box of a house.
I hate my parents misfortunes. I hate being related. I hate the fear it gives me that I will also be as much a failure. I despair each time I think of them.
Drowning in depression..
1.
kana lay on her bed, cramped in a room that could only be described as a shoe box.
new life of a city student; juxtaposed with a simple girl.
The sound of the world drifting through her window is much busier. the view a lot more voyeuristic.... -end