I am walking on the streets of London with my mother, my sister, and her son. They are visiting for the first time since I moved here. We are bundled up in our coats. It is so cold that we just piled up wools and puffers and hats and scarfs and gloves and anything we could find.
We look terrible, but we’re happy.
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Such is the gift I had gifted myself for the third week of January. I knew, for I had experienced it before, that my time in New Zealand is always as full of joy as it is full of blob (I’ll get back to that later).
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