The Secret Life of Bebe

So I’m less angry now. Actually, now I think about it, not really angry at all. I’m in ‘pick up and get on with it’ mode again. Feeling a little more battered than before, but A-okay, all things considered.

The big news of the week was the government releasing information on the suburbs it has deemed potentially unrepairable (I’ll blog more about the ins-and-outs of this later). Our suburb was on that list. Not a great feeling. More detailed information was scheduled to be released on Thursday afternoon.

On Thursday morning, Stephen and I sat at the breakfast table looking on google maps at the list of suburbs in question. Which would be in the red? The most badly damaged areas were around the Avon river and Horseshoe Lake. Our lovely little suburb of Dallington sits in between these. Would they just wipe out the lot? It made me nervous. Even the usually cool, calm and collected Stephen admits to a little anxiety.

I had trouble concentrating at work that morning. It felt like a big part of our future would be decided by the announcement that afternoon. Either our house and land would be considered repairable, or it would be not. And to be honest, either option didn’t sound great.

So on Thursday afternoon we found out that we are ‘Green’. The street we live in is fine. The land is not so badly damaged by the repeated shakes since September 4th that it can’t be lived on. I was so relieved. We put so much effort and energy (and money!) into buying our house. We wanted to make ourselves a home there. A base for us and the rest of our Frompson crew to be safe and comfortable for a long time to come. To lose that, after everything else, would be so hard. But now we don’t have to worry about it.

And then the reality and enormity of what was going to happen started to sink in as I drove to collect Bronwen from school on Thursday afternoon.

We are surrounded by the red zone. The houses between where we live and where Bronwen goes to school (and where Stephen grew up) will eventually be gone. Over the past couple of years we’ve driven, walked, skated and run through that area. It feels like our place.

The next few weeks and months will be interesting as it all shakes down. People will accept the offer the government has made to buy their land, and they’ll leave. The government has said they will demolish houses as people go. Within two years, the 5000+ houses will be gone, and we will live surrounded by a green belt. It’s hard to imagine.

Before Monday, I was rallying. I was starting to get my mojo back, feeling much better about things. My strategy was to focus on small things that were happening so that I could see things moving forward. This helped to ease the general feeling of hopelessness that would creep in some days. So I noted the smoothed roads in my suburb, the fact that we finally had flush toilets, that we’d be moving into a new office soon.

Then Monday happened, a 5.7 and a 6.3 magnitude earthquake. More liquefaction, more flooding, more broken streets. Making a dash across town to gather my family at home. No power, water. And no flush toilet. It breaks my heart.

My first thought, when I stopped long enough to think about it, was that I’m angry. Thoroughly pissed off. Again?! We have to do all of this AGAIN?! Before Monday I was getting a level of acceptance of how my life has changed, now I’m just mad. At what? I don’t know. And that just makes it harder. Not nature. Not god. This is just a random event. There is nothing to get mad at. But I am anyway.

I know that underneath my anger is fear. The more of these destructive earthquakes we have, the less secure I feel. I lay in bed the other morning, woken by a strong jolt, thinking … “is there going to be another? Will this be ‘the one’? …”

Those thoughts don’t last long. I can’t live with them in my head for long. But I resent that they are there at all. I should be able to trust the ground underneath my feet. I should be able to take for granted my power, running water, flush toilets. I shouldn’t have to listen to children developing a new vocabulary that includes ‘liquefaction’, ‘magnitude’ and ‘munted’.

I know I’ll pick up and move on, but right now I’m just angry.

I haven’t blogged in a month, and it’s been such a busy month too. Nothing in particular has been going on, just work, family, house and social life. But I had the feeling of life passing me by without my having paused for reflection in a while, so it was time for some writing.

Life is slowly getting back to normal. In Christchurch we call it the ‘new normal’. It isn’t really normal at all. We have no city, literally. The city centre has been a no-go zone for three months now, and will continue to be so for at least the rest of this year. I miss it.

But I feel like I’m adjusting. Doing normal things again – going skating, to the movies, work, out for coffee. It’s lovely. The road outside our house has been fixed – no more bumps. That feels like a big step forward. Now all we need is a flush toilet and it really will feel normal.

The best news is that we have a new work location to move into. It’s not quite ready yet – needs fibre cables for high speed internet laid, and some renovation. But by the end of the month, we should be able to move in to a new place where we can all have a desk and a chair, and all be together again. I’m really looking forward to that!

Every morning before I leave the house, I take a few minutes to read something from my little green bedside book. It contains words of wisdom and thoughts for the day. Each day I read, and then I contemplate. It sets me up, helps me to stay focused and calm.

This morning I picked up my little book for the first time in over a month. The page marker was stuck on February 22nd. The mediation for that day was about tolerance, patience and love. Just the usual. I haven’t been able to pick the book up since that day. The first few days after the quake I was just too busy and shellshocked – out of my normal routine. Then I was too mad. I didn’t want to meditate. Then I started to miss it.

So today I picked up my little green book again and opened it to March 28th. I read this:

“Is there ever any particular spot where one can put one’s finger and say ‘it all began on that day, at such a time and such a place, with such an incident?’ … We can reflect on a particular experience and tag it a turning point…”

It made me cry, which I’ve mostly managed to avoid the last couple of weeks. February 22 was a defining moment in our lives. My little world has changed so much since then. For weeks after, nothing seemed familiar. It is very disorienting. After more than a month, my world is coming back into alignment. It’s all still new, but it’s starting to feel right again. Just in small bursts so far, but life is slowly getting back to some kind of normal.

And like everyone else in Christchurch, I just keep moving forward, making the most of what I have. I can’t put it behind me yet because I’m still living in it, but I can think about what I can learn from it, what I can gain. The reading finished in this way:

“…it’s the many parts of our lives, past and present, that guarantee us the turning points that nudge us further up the mountain. We will see the summit and we will understand how, each time we stumbled, new strength was gained.”

It comforted me to think about it in this way.

I had a bit of a crash yesterday, and am feeling sad today. It all just became a bit much. The city I grew up in it such a wreck. We are all doing so well, but tempers are frayed and everyone is on edge. Getting anywhere is a mission, and I keep driving past buildings I loved that have been reduced to rubble. It’s disheartening. I can’t even think about Japan. It sounds self-centered, but it is just too big.

Personally, I’m reeling a bit. Too much change all at once. Getting married was a big deal. I changed my name. That in itself is a lot of change for me. But now my workplace is gone, and I’m leaving my home in two weeks, with no idea what will happen next. Nothing is stable, everything is different and it feels like too much at the moment. I need some familiarity.

Instead, I’ll just wait it out. Time always works these things out. What seems unfamiliar and scary now will be my new familiarity, given enough time. And in the meantime I’ll just keep breathing, and say a little prayer each night for our lost souls.