One afternoon I decided I wanted to go to New Zealand. So that night, I did. It might have had something to do with a very upsetting and traumatic incident that had occurred that very same week, and the fact that my parents and siblings had just flown there for a much awaited family holiday, but it didn’t matter. I had that sudden urge to pack my bags and get the hell out of wherever I was. I had earlier that year decided not to join the rest of my family on the aforementioned trip; I had decided I wanted time for myself and freedom from family commitments. The irony of all of it is that the moment I would need them most was the day they left the country. So I hopped online, bought the next available ticket (which despite being a four-leg affair was the most opportune option) and left Australia and my woes behind. Something like 24 hours later, after 36 hours awake and numerous delays and lost connections, I joined my family for a two-week saunter through the Kiwi outback. And it was beautiful. It will probably be the last time my family and I do such a thing; my Dad is not well and there are babies to be born. So it is a memory that will last and be one of great, great joy. Six adults, 14 days and one car. Not recommended for everyone, but not everyone loves their family like I do. Sometimes the most random of events can inspire the most blessed memories.