The Eye of the Fish

May 19, 2012

Never go back

Don’t go back. You can never go back. The past is indeed a distant country.

The Fish is away at present, and may be some time. Revisiting old haunts. But things are never the same. Going back to the House of the Fish, where us little tiddlers took our first few tentative steps. When we left our house, our ancestral home, our turangawaewae, if you will: flowers bloomed in the paddock, trees blossomed, and a wide drive lined with flowers lead the way to the mansion of my parents. A quiet, well-designed, modest wee house to be honest, but at least it was home. Pictures of ancestors lined the walls. Childhood scribbles daub the walls. Chickens roamed the section, clucking in alarm as our faithful beagle trotted by. She is buried there still, beneath the holly tree.

I built my first Fish construction here – a chicken shed of course. Then a tree house of majestic proportions. All gone now. The tree house is gone. So is the tree it sat in. The plants concreted over. The walls painted the colour of shit and death.

Never go back.

19 - 05 - 12

sorry maximus. did this happen to you too?

19 - 05 - 12

“You can never go home again. But I guess you can shop there.”
You’re absolutely right there minimus, absolutely right. Thank you for that.
When they make a film about my life, can I have John Cusack play me?

60 MPa
21 - 05 - 12

“The walls painted the colour of shit and death”

It’s not so much that some RAV4 driving croc wearing gum smacking gym bunny takes over our previous memories, it’s the way that they do it so tackily. Eww.
There is a special chamber in Hell for anyone with a stick figure family on their back window..truly the flared trousers and padded shoulders of the 2010’s..

22 - 05 - 12

Did I even mention that they built a large double garage on the open land where my sister got married, turned the laundry into a spare bedroom, and cut down all the trees on the driveway? No doubt they would call it “adding value” to the house – but to me it is just destroying memories. I curse them in a thousand tongues. จาบดจาลสชงบขรรขพชท งจจาบงงจบจ จเขจงงบ!!!!&@$€¥€%**!!

22 - 05 - 12

Ah, but is it not the mark of a good building that it can be adapted as time passes, and change to meet the needs of successive users? Their wants may not be the same as yours were, of course.

Just playing devils advocate here, but surely we cannot advocate for endlessly preserving the conditions of the past, just so that memories can survive?

Adapt or die? But you’re right, don’t look back – especially if it was that precious to you. I was in Christchurch a couple of weeks ago and it was clear that looking back causes heartache.