(Un)reality in Christchurch

Sometimes I have this feeling of unreality. Like when I stand in places that are so beautiful I can hardly believe it. Or when unexpected encounters or experiences happen that catch me off guard and touch my heart. Or when something becomes reality that until then existed only in my imagination.
I have such a moment when I am in Christchurch. With this name, I connect: earthquakes. Mass shootings. Fire. Somehow destruction, violence, and harshness. How wonderful it is to be able to create my own picture. Because Christchurch isn’t harsh to me; this city feels like a warm embrace of European charm, colorful rainbow vibrancy, and peaceful pauses by the large tree in the Botanical Gardens. It carries a bit of farewell sadness since four fellow travelers are leaving, including my curly partner from the Netherlands, whom I have grown very fond of and often hugged. It is laughter, it is street art, it is water where 'punts' glide along, reminiscent of Venice, where my mother is at this very moment. At the same time, there is a little too little and too much music in my ears because I don't have a ticket for the music festival taking place during our visit, but the DJ at our hostel plays until the early hours of the morning in the bar beneath our room. Christchurch feels so right to me that I book one more night here than I originally planned.
Weird, isn’t it? So often we have images in our heads, even more so: 'convictions!' about how this one reality is that we think we know. And only when we engage, look closely, and feel it can we allow our reality to align with others, with our impressions and experiences. Just like with a book adaptation where the images in our heads are complemented by images on the screen – competing or manifesting images, sometimes they sober us up, sometimes they astonish us. In any case, they expand our horizons and thus our very own reality.