On the outside

My hometown was never a good culture fit for me, coupled with its blatant lack of entertainment and food which I can’t ignore.

Home is like a reverse culture shock the longer I am away.

Home is always going to be pretty to look at, the valley behind my mums cottage house. That wide brown river that runs through the town, when the murk clears it looks nice.

The celebration of Maori culture and etiquette I value deeply. And this image attached, I took at a friends house that makes me feel oddly warm inside and nostalgic.

But, home is also where being “a girl” is an insult and applicable to both sex’s (just both. the binarism is loud).

Where the politics are polarising, where bigoted Christianity colonises invisibly next to the practicing of hedgemonic masculinity; wrapped up in a tightly sealed, anti-intellectual vacuum. It’s just kind of a big ol’ problematic smorgasbord, captioned in one paragraph here; but by no means exhaustive.

Consequences of a stationary town, and country (I’m calling it out). Which for those who do leave becomes a contextual baseline for how much one can grow from.

The more telling signs of personal growth of course is when hometowners just out of pocket explicitly tell you you don’t belong.


Ah yeah, very Surprising. Thank you for the feedback. It’s actually a great barometer for my life.

The idea of staying put is always conflated with the idea of failure. This is not at all fair to say, or true. I think migration patterns are indicative of self diagnosis. You leave relationships behind, like you leave locations. Because nothing is worse than existing just to be more palatable for your wrong environment. Why do that, when you also have the option to leave, find the right cultural fit and carve out your own niché.

I said what I said. It’s not completely lost on me that these cultural norms I mention are everywhere. I guess the point is to just keep swimming.