What do you say when someone asks where you’re from?
Growing up all over New Zealand I find the question of belonging to somewhere specific tricky. Is it where I was born? Is it Christchurch where I had those formidable high school years? Or Dunedin, where I grew my business and met the friends who I know I’ll have forever? Or Auckland, the place I’ve felt most whole and happy?
More and more the place that honestly feels like home, mentally and spiritually is the Wairarapa. It’s that drive down over the rolling Rimutaka hills. It’s the overgrown windmill and long grass we used to play in, the Ruamahunga river on Christmas Day, the little adventures revisiting places I remember with my younger sisters or cousins.
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