It’s 4:30 A.M. I’ve woken up before my five a.m. alarm in the top bunk of the eight person dorm room. I can’t go back to sleep. I climb down the ladder in my boxers. I can barely see anything.
Pulling up my pants I feel self conscious as I hear others sitting in their bunks. “Oh no, did I wake them?” Cursing myself for being so inconsiderate. I have to remind myself I’m being super nice getting up before my alarm goes off. “This is a hostel! Fuck them” I think chuckling inside.
After dragging my bags into the hallway I call a car to take me to work. My phone vibrates letting me know the driver is arriving as I brush my teeth and wash the sleepers from my eyes.
The area around my work is an industrial area. No one lives here. It’s just offices with storage yards. The sun still yet to rise and the dead quiet of the street in an unknown area creates a mildly eerie vibe. The sun has yet to rise. I dropped my bags on the ground by a tree under their mailbox, fifteen minutes early. How did that happen?
I got a job building event displays. We are heading two hours south of Auckland to work at Fieldays. The company is putting me up in a house down there and feeding me dinner. This is the perfect job for a backpacker: accommodation, dinner, and a paycheck.
Lights shine into my face as a car pulls up into the gate. It’s 6:04. They’re late.
After the first day of work we head to the Hamilton house. My two coworkers are sharing a room, my two bosses are sharing a room, they send me down the short, cold hallway to a room of my own. What a treat after a week of uncomfortable living in hostel.
I make myself comfortable by emptying my backpack and spreading my clothes across the room. Having been feeling a little depressed. I use the freedom of privacy in my own room to stretch my back with yoga, leading into a guided mediation.
The week ended and we are heading back to Auckland. I feel nervous about going back to the hostel. I feel comfort in knowing a few people there. I feel refreshed from my time alone. Things are starting to look up.
The next few weeks are spent in a similar way. I go down to Hamilton Monday through Friday and live in Auckland on the weekends. A few things change. I now share my room with a new coworker, Finn, a twenty-one year old German guy. I don’t let this stop me from meditating and doing yoga. He never says anything about it.
On the weekends, I start to share hostels with my coworkers to save money on uber. I switched hostels. My coworker Sven is way more social than I. As I walk in from the street I see him sitting with a handful of people sharing beers, cigarettes, and stories. I sit down. Immediately, I’m offered a beer from an older Islander named Kali.
Before I can finish the beer I am drinking, Kali opens and hands me two more. Over the course of a couple twelve packs I learn that he is in Auckland working. He is a building a building down by the wharf.
He and his partner are from Tonga. A small island nation north of New Zealand. They share their romantic history with us. They both have had other partners, even been married, but they knew the entire time they were meant to be together. They’re both alcoholics. They are super generous and just keeping giving away the beers and cigarettes they’ve bought even though it’s clear they don’t have much money.
“It’s the Tongan way. We share what we have with people who don’t have their own drink. We don’t think anything of it. It’s just beer. Why not share?”
I am reminded about how much money I have saved up. I am reminded by the opportunities I have had that got me here. I am reminded by the safety net back home waiting to catch me if I fail abroad. It reminds me that these people without much are willing to share with me. What do I share?
I start thinking about how odd it is that i think so much just from sharing a beer with other people. Lost in a mental loop of thinking about thinking. They notice that I’m zoning. “You alright mate,” asks Kali. “I’m great.” How can I explain the depth of feelings I have just felt from getting a few free beers. I can’t believe that a few free beers remind me that I’m not living up to my morals.
It’s another Monday morning and we are heading back down to Hamilton. Monday night after work we arrive home at the Hamilton house. It’s a cold cinder block structure. It’s freezing and unwelcoming. It’s home. I have been living here longer than anywhere else in New Zealand so far.
I feel comfort in the routine. Start a fire after work, dinner at 6:30P.M., provided by the host (unless she forgets), early bed time, wake up at 6:30A.M. before everyone else and eat breakfast alone, and then off to work. We do this every day Monday night to Friday morning.
Working a thoughtless, do-what-you-are-told construction job provides me with ample time to think. I can notice how the quality of the task I need to complete and the weather play a role in my attitude. When the weather is cold and wet and I have to just move heavy things around I challenge my decision to come here, to work this job. When I get the opportunity to do a little problem solving I feel much more proud of myself at the end of the day.
The truth is though, I don’t give a shit about this job. The project is for a client I don’t care about. I get paid regardless of the quality of my work, and my managers are annoyingly unorganized. What I learned is that if I want to do a good job I need to do it for myself. I need to take pride in my work for myself and no one else.
I didn’t include any pictures with branding because the client didn’t pay me to. No free advertising.