I wasn't prepared for the Queenstown winter.
Summer's brilliance had fled north, and the tendrils of bitter cold came slithering through the valleys. Glacial winds shattered against the shoulders of the mountains. Stony frost descended from the raw skies. Winter had arrived with eyes of wrath, holding its sceptre.
There was no escaping winter's bony fingers. I was lucky to find a room in a little wooden house perched on Fernhill, but it offered no respite. The chill seeped into the wooden boards like ink, numbing my new abode into an ice shack.
The room itself was satisfactory. There was space against the wall for my keyboard, which was my one and only requirement, so I was happy. Taking up the other half of the room was a king sized bed with mammoth blankets - my shield against the cold. I collapsed and sunk into its plush embrace, feeling the summer in my belly. This was my new headquarters for reconstructing Joshua St Clair, and that was special.
The two other tenants were a mixed bag. One of them was another young fellow named Kane who had a gift for singing, but he worked the graveyard shift at countdown, so I never got to appreciate his talent with him. The other tenant was a lady named Karlin, and she was the iron-fisted ruler of this household. Occupying the main bedroom below me, she was hard-nosed and as stiff as chopped wood. I tried my best to relate with her, sharing stories and trying to be humorous. But she just started at me like a black cat, unenthused.
My floorboards groaned when I stepped on them, and I didn't want to temper the growler downstairs. So I spent my first two weeks tipy-tooing to my room and snuggling into my bed. In the weeks leading up to the move to Queenstown, I was bouncing in anticipation to solidify my piano practice routine to 2 hours a day, but my keyboard stand was still being couriered from Auckland. My discipline dwindled like a candle flame, and fizzled out completely when my college papers started to stack up in the corner of the room. I didn't want to even look at them, but my keyboard made friends with them, because he was lonely too. I found myself swimming in the computer screen every day after college, discouraged and bored. Stagnation swamped me. But it was okay, because soon my keyboard stand would arrive, and everything would be set straight.
On the third week, a tall box awaited my arrival at the house after a stale day of college - my stand had finally arrived. I eagerly set up my keyboard, plugged it into my laptop, put in my headphones, and launched into the most liberating jam of my life! I surrendered myself, dipping my heart into the melodies and rhythms of music, and being swept up by radiating joy.
After much turbulence, I had finally entered clear skies.
A frisky knock on my door pulled me from my holy musical embrace. I pulled the door open, and Karlin was standing there, a grave look on her face. "Sorry, but you have to stop playing. I am trying to study, and you are making loud banging noises that are disturbing my concentration." She pulled the door shut before I could even say a word.
I was outraged! I wanted to snap back and say "I'm studying too!", but I refrained. She was kind of scary! She had claws and sharp fangs, and I didn't want her to strike again. I couldn't express my emotional flux in music, and I bottled up the emotions instead. Grabbing my headphones, I stormed out of the house, the floorboards screaming at me underneath my heavy feet.
The cold air blasted my face, but it wasn't as cold as Karlin. I couldn't believe it - it took only 20 minutes of playing to provoke her, and I had headphones on! The sound of my fingers landing on the keys were enough to rattle the tender floorboards, and disturb her studies. I tugged my jacket zip to my neck, and walked briskly towards the town, my emotions stewing inside. I wanted to practice for 2 hours a day. What was I going to do now? It felt like the death of Joshua St Clair.
I escaped into the bars, and brushed passed all the people to my friend Sahil. He handed my an ice cold beer. It was just the elixir I needed. One thing lead to another, and I found myself guzzling pints in most of the Queenstown bars. But it wasn't the antidote - it was the poison. Drunken stupor seized me like the plague, bleeding worry and ill thoughts into my system. I worried that I was going to fail college. I worried that I was going to get kicked out of my flat and struggle to find another place to live. I worried that my dream was never going to see the light. I was a flailing mess on the slippery dance floor, flinging money at the bartender for more beer, being sucked into the sinkhole like the last of the dirty water in a bathtub.
My eyes were like fat toads the next morning. A groggy mess, I flopped my way into the lecture room, wrestling to compose myself. We had to develop a business plan for one of the classes, and I looked at my idea feeling like a complete idiot. It was a kiosk selling heart shaped tarts. I wanted to be hustling my own business - Joshua St Clair - not this nonsense! I wanted to be a proud independent artist, succeeding in my own endeavour. Heart shaped tarts? Mockery! I had been degraded from artist to tartist!
It continued like this for 6 weeks. The whirlpool of town sucked me in every weekend, and I lugged my entire bank account of savings and tossed the whole hoard of cash into the sinkhole, never to be seen again. My mojo disintegrated. My discipline, my dream, my determination to build a wonderful life - all of this had been poisoned by the bitter cold conditions of Queenstown and my flat, blackened by frostbite.
When Karlin left the house, I had time to launch into the sounds of my piano music, but my muse was just as frozen as I was. Nothing new sparked from my fingers, and I threw my hands up in frustration every time. Damn my music! Damn Karlin! Damn this ice-shack of a flat! I frantically opened up the internet, browsing for a new place to live. The next time I faced Karlin, I told her I was looking to move out. She couldn't even squeeze a nod.
The blizzard arrived on week 8. Both college and winter cast down upon me with hostility. I had multiple assignments due, and emerging from my cozy bed was damn near impossible. I had failed to find myself a new flat to live in, and I was losing hope of ever moving on from Karlin. And then I received the message.
"Hi Josh, could you please clean up your room. I've got somebody coming to check out your room today. She will be potentially moving in. Let me know your leaving date so I can tell her."
And just like that, my ice-shack had been swiped from beneath my feet. Karlin abused all of the conditions for tenancy, but arguing my case would have been like trying to freeze a flame. I wanted to be rid of her forever, so I obeyed her commands.
I had 1 week to find a new place to live in the crammed Queenstown, as well as 3 assignments due. I was being enclosed in blue worry and black stress, both as menacing the winter blitz. The confident Joshua St Clair had suffocated in the harsh elements. I was a lost child once again - confused and shivering.
Winter had splintered my life.
Summer's brilliance had fled north, and the tendrils of bitter cold came slithering through the valleys. Glacial winds shattered against the shoulders of the mountains. Stony frost descended from the raw skies. Winter had arrived with eyes of wrath, holding its sceptre.
The room itself was satisfactory. There was space against the wall for my keyboard, which was my one and only requirement, so I was happy. Taking up the other half of the room was a king sized bed with mammoth blankets - my shield against the cold. I collapsed and sunk into its plush embrace, feeling the summer in my belly. This was my new headquarters for reconstructing Joshua St Clair, and that was special.
The two other tenants were a mixed bag. One of them was another young fellow named Kane who had a gift for singing, but he worked the graveyard shift at countdown, so I never got to appreciate his talent with him. The other tenant was a lady named Karlin, and she was the iron-fisted ruler of this household. Occupying the main bedroom below me, she was hard-nosed and as stiff as chopped wood. I tried my best to relate with her, sharing stories and trying to be humorous. But she just started at me like a black cat, unenthused.
My floorboards groaned when I stepped on them, and I didn't want to temper the growler downstairs. So I spent my first two weeks tipy-tooing to my room and snuggling into my bed. In the weeks leading up to the move to Queenstown, I was bouncing in anticipation to solidify my piano practice routine to 2 hours a day, but my keyboard stand was still being couriered from Auckland. My discipline dwindled like a candle flame, and fizzled out completely when my college papers started to stack up in the corner of the room. I didn't want to even look at them, but my keyboard made friends with them, because he was lonely too. I found myself swimming in the computer screen every day after college, discouraged and bored. Stagnation swamped me. But it was okay, because soon my keyboard stand would arrive, and everything would be set straight.
On the third week, a tall box awaited my arrival at the house after a stale day of college - my stand had finally arrived. I eagerly set up my keyboard, plugged it into my laptop, put in my headphones, and launched into the most liberating jam of my life! I surrendered myself, dipping my heart into the melodies and rhythms of music, and being swept up by radiating joy.
After much turbulence, I had finally entered clear skies.
A frisky knock on my door pulled me from my holy musical embrace. I pulled the door open, and Karlin was standing there, a grave look on her face. "Sorry, but you have to stop playing. I am trying to study, and you are making loud banging noises that are disturbing my concentration." She pulled the door shut before I could even say a word.
I was outraged! I wanted to snap back and say "I'm studying too!", but I refrained. She was kind of scary! She had claws and sharp fangs, and I didn't want her to strike again. I couldn't express my emotional flux in music, and I bottled up the emotions instead. Grabbing my headphones, I stormed out of the house, the floorboards screaming at me underneath my heavy feet.
The cold air blasted my face, but it wasn't as cold as Karlin. I couldn't believe it - it took only 20 minutes of playing to provoke her, and I had headphones on! The sound of my fingers landing on the keys were enough to rattle the tender floorboards, and disturb her studies. I tugged my jacket zip to my neck, and walked briskly towards the town, my emotions stewing inside. I wanted to practice for 2 hours a day. What was I going to do now? It felt like the death of Joshua St Clair.
I escaped into the bars, and brushed passed all the people to my friend Sahil. He handed my an ice cold beer. It was just the elixir I needed. One thing lead to another, and I found myself guzzling pints in most of the Queenstown bars. But it wasn't the antidote - it was the poison. Drunken stupor seized me like the plague, bleeding worry and ill thoughts into my system. I worried that I was going to fail college. I worried that I was going to get kicked out of my flat and struggle to find another place to live. I worried that my dream was never going to see the light. I was a flailing mess on the slippery dance floor, flinging money at the bartender for more beer, being sucked into the sinkhole like the last of the dirty water in a bathtub.
My eyes were like fat toads the next morning. A groggy mess, I flopped my way into the lecture room, wrestling to compose myself. We had to develop a business plan for one of the classes, and I looked at my idea feeling like a complete idiot. It was a kiosk selling heart shaped tarts. I wanted to be hustling my own business - Joshua St Clair - not this nonsense! I wanted to be a proud independent artist, succeeding in my own endeavour. Heart shaped tarts? Mockery! I had been degraded from artist to tartist!
It continued like this for 6 weeks. The whirlpool of town sucked me in every weekend, and I lugged my entire bank account of savings and tossed the whole hoard of cash into the sinkhole, never to be seen again. My mojo disintegrated. My discipline, my dream, my determination to build a wonderful life - all of this had been poisoned by the bitter cold conditions of Queenstown and my flat, blackened by frostbite.
When Karlin left the house, I had time to launch into the sounds of my piano music, but my muse was just as frozen as I was. Nothing new sparked from my fingers, and I threw my hands up in frustration every time. Damn my music! Damn Karlin! Damn this ice-shack of a flat! I frantically opened up the internet, browsing for a new place to live. The next time I faced Karlin, I told her I was looking to move out. She couldn't even squeeze a nod.
The blizzard arrived on week 8. Both college and winter cast down upon me with hostility. I had multiple assignments due, and emerging from my cozy bed was damn near impossible. I had failed to find myself a new flat to live in, and I was losing hope of ever moving on from Karlin. And then I received the message.
"Hi Josh, could you please clean up your room. I've got somebody coming to check out your room today. She will be potentially moving in. Let me know your leaving date so I can tell her."
And just like that, my ice-shack had been swiped from beneath my feet. Karlin abused all of the conditions for tenancy, but arguing my case would have been like trying to freeze a flame. I wanted to be rid of her forever, so I obeyed her commands.
I had 1 week to find a new place to live in the crammed Queenstown, as well as 3 assignments due. I was being enclosed in blue worry and black stress, both as menacing the winter blitz. The confident Joshua St Clair had suffocated in the harsh elements. I was a lost child once again - confused and shivering.
Winter had splintered my life.
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