Overcome By Endorphins

I had one of those moments today, when I was on the way home. I don't have them very often. From what I gather, other people seem to get them relatively frequently. What I'm talking about is the occurrence where everything just suddenly seems right -- as if a kind of order has been achieved that wasn't there before. I know it's an abstract concept, but considering that I am in a decidedly unstable mental state and have been so for the past few days, I'm surprised that I was able to have one of these experiences at this particular point in time.

The train was sitting in the siding on top of the hill at Avondale, waiting for the citybound service to pass. It had been a productive day to say the least, having seen my last-minute completion of my Film Studies assignment go very much according to plan. I had finally gained a window seat after being elsewhere in the carriage for the last half hour or so, and I was glad of it because it virtually gave me a view of the whole of the north-western part of Auckland. I could see my house, I could see the North Shore, the city and university all in one huge, motley diorama. Since it was about quarter to five, the sun was at just the right position in the sky; it was shining in my eyes but at the same time it was not painful or annoying. The bright light was set against a peaceful blue sky that was strewn with whispy white cloud formations. As a result of the atmospherics, everything had that surreal look to it, where the colours bleed together just so and the aesthetics of the city resemble an elaborate oil painting.

The little one-lane streets surrounding the hill were empty despite the fact that it was just about rush hour, kept awake at this stage only by the families of children frolicking across the cool black asphalt. It felt like the entire city had lapsed into some kind of heavenly siesta. The corrugated iron rooftops of New Lynn glistened gently under the sunlight, and sun-showers fell conservatively in places atop the Waitakere Ranges that made up my horizon. Topping it all off, Sigur Rós streamed sensuously through my headphones, providing a fitting soundtrack to the otherworldly sense of contentment and peace that I was feeling. To think that this very morning, my mother had been complaining to me that she feels as if I never want to see the good in things. I briefly came to the recurring, yet remarkably infrequent realisation that, for all its negative points, the world is just so beautiful.