It was an impulsive decision, Savitri knew, but imperative to take. To uproot
oneself is no easy feat, but she was determined to move. Anahira had helped her find a
job with an advertising agency in Auckland, and now she had a steady source of
money. She gave her resignation notice at her office in America, much to the surprise of
her boss and colleagues.
“New Zealand? Are you mad? What’s there for you in New Zealand?” they all
had exclaimed in shock. Nothing, she knew they thought. But a whole lifetime of
tranquillity and joy for her. The promise of a better life. A more fulfilling one. How could
they possibly understand? How could they possibly know the pure joy aroused in her
when she smelt the fresh air and looked at the greenery around her? When she
encountered smiling, friendly people, or exquisite, untouched natural beauty? Sheer,
raw beauty, unadulterated by mankind? Nature was slowly being destroyed in other
countries, but in New Zealand, it was ninety-nine percent pure. How could they possibly
know that she needed to live there, to breathe, eat, and embrace it? They didn’t have
wanderlust – they didn’t have fiery, wild passions that drove them to cross the ocean for
a new life. For an old friend.
She walked out of the office and never looked back.
The waves continued to crash against the shore as she stood there by the
water’s edge, her feet sinking into the wet sand. It was light now, and she could clearly
see her surroundings. Another wave crashed, the foamy water surrounding her ankles
and cleaning the sand from her toes. Anahira had stood on the very same beach with
her after she arrived in New Zealand. They had done what all children do at the beach:
collect shells. They were brought back to their childhoods and all those hot, sunny days,
running close to the waves to scoop up the prettiest shell they saw. They would whoop
in joy when they found an intact, colourful shell, click their tongues in disappointment
when they couldn’t grasp one, and scream when the cold waves lapped at their thighs.
You can never be an adult when collecting shells, your feet buried in the sand, shrieking
when the waves crash into your legs. You will always revert back to childhood. The
beach invokes the child in us, no matter how old we are. Our age strips away to reveal a
young soul, pleased by things so simple yet beautiful.
Anahira had pointed out where all the shells lay: underneath the waves before
they hit the shoreline. Savitri had seen a layer of shells as the waves rose – there were
dozens and dozens of them, big and small, beautiful and ugly, broken and whole, all
waiting to be carried to shore.
“Those are where the best shells are,” Anahira had told her.
“Is this some kind of Maori knowledge?” Savitri had replied, for she had never
noticed the layer of shells before.
Anahira laughed. “No, no, love, I’m sure plenty of
people know it once they’ve collected shells for long enough. It’s nothing secret.”