Letter From New Zealand

At the reception, I’m seated next to “Linda,” an old law school mate and best friend of Gail. Her husband Eddie flew in from the Philippines specially for the wedding. Eddie is recently-retired High Court judge and family friend who several years back admitted Emily to the bar in a special ceremony.

Emily and Hamish pop by our table. For once, I have nothing to say.

I find myself dancing till late into the evening. Or, more like it, a universal expression of thanksgiving and celebration.

I grab a cab home. The driver is a young man from the Arab Emirates. He’s been in New Zealand for nine years. His family is scattered throughout the world. He hasn’t seen them in all this time.

I have felt this kind of separation many many times in my life. I find myself relating to the driver, but he is also identifying with my joy. When he arrived here, he tells me, he only knew the words, “hi” and “bye.” That was it. He is taking IT courses. He is optimistic about his future here, in New Zealand, the country of his choice.

“I be like Barrack Obama,” he laughs, in reference to his dark complexion and his sky-is-the-limit attitude.

Sunday: We’re back at Gail’s for an informal barbecue. Before I know it, I find myself saying my good byes. “Will you be back?” many of them ask.

A twinkle comes to my eye. “First grandchild,” I find myself saying. “And I might just stay.”