Little Hagley Park.
The port of Lyttelton.
My favourite sculpture on Worcester Boulevard.
The sherbert colours of New Regent Street and the tram lines running through.
In the Christchurch Botanic Gardens, amongst the first daffodils of the spring.
When I first moved to Christchurch, in 2002, I didn't like it much. This has nothing to do with the city itself and everything to do with the fact that I had just left my home in Zimbabwe; that it was a particularly cold winter (and I was not at all used to feeling cold); that it was a grey and drizzly day when we landed; and that we went straight from the airport to my new school to buy an ugly plaid and navy uniform. For the first few weeks, I slept in two pairs of socks, a sweater and a woolly hat because the cold in my bedroom made it difficult to sleep - we were living in a 1920s wooden villa with no heating or insulation.
When I settled in, though, I grew to love the city. It felt very familiar, because of its English-ness - the name, for a start, and the old stone buildings; the Avon River, with its boater-hatted punters (LOML was a punter, for a while, as a summer job); the manicured parks and beds of flowers. I made friends and started to feel like a part of the place, rather than just a visitor. I found favourite spots - the park, the Square, the antique shops down Manchester Street, the Arts Centre. I loved to go for long walks around the city, stopping at op-shops and bookshops along the way. We were lucky enough to live very close to Hagley Park in the last few years, and I walked around the park nearly every morning.
After Zimbabwe, Christchurch was a refuge. My family and I were amazed at how warmly the city and its people welcomed us; how safe it felt. I loved being able to walk the streets and take public transport without feeling frightened.
Christchurch is where I became an adult. It is where I finished school, and started university. It is where I had my first kiss, and first had my heart broken. It is where Mink (then a stray) turned up on the doorstep of my first student flat and moved in. It is where I met LOML, and where I got married. It is where we made some lifelong friends. Members of both our families live there - LOML's parents, brother and sister-in-law, my parents and sister - and our nephew was born there.
When we left last year to move to Austin, I expected that Christchurch would still be there, waiting, when we returned; that we were the ones for whom everything would change. Now I find that many of my nostalgic farewells to beloved places really were my final goodbyes. I never expected that.
I know that Christchurch hasn't disappeared. The spirit of the city is still there. But a town that was always a place of tranquillity and safety - the gracious Garden City of the South Island, with its peaceful parks and laid-back lifestyle - has become something resembling a war zone, and a place of frightening memories for many. It's just heartbreaking to see.
For me, Christchurch is safety - even now - because I know that the city can and will survive anything. Yes, the face of the city will change, but the people won't - and it's the people that make Christchurch what it is.
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