"She'll be right!" It's the slogan of New Zealanders (don't you dare think it's Australian) - our famous three-worded sentence; the older sibling of the "yeah-nah".
It is said in response to a broken appliance, a sick sheep, the glowing petrol light, a dirty barbecue or an agitated spouse (where "she" is assumed to encompass all non-gendered objects).
Admittedly, we are no longer a country of Swanndri-clad, gumboot-footed, No-8-wire-is-all-we-need pioneers, but that is where she'll be right began.
This archetypal kiwi attitude still prospers in the hearts of even the most Auckland-bred of us.
And I'm quite sure this lifestyle mantra is more profound than we acknowledge.
Before September 4, 2010, my family did not have a disaster survival kit.
We already had all the recommended essentials in the house and the pantry is always stocked with food.
If there was a disaster, Dad assured us that she'd be right.
Hands up if you were the same ... Yeah, we're not the only ones.
But disaster did strike during some dirty hour of a Saturday morning and we couldn't find the jolly torch, so we sat in post-earthquake darkness, only imagining the destruction that lay beyond our vision.
Hoping, I suppose, that she'd be right.
And overnight, Dad's assumption she'd be right in a disaster just didn't convince us any more.
My mother swiftly compiled a survival kit which would probably see us through an apocalypse.
Our extended family and many of our friends did the same.
Christchurch sighed, shook herself and got up again. Bumped and bruised, but she was all right.
Our typically Kiwi sense of invincibility, of infinite possibility dried tears and turned the broken china into mosaic art work.
Funnily enough, no-one in my family was at home during the earthquake on February 22, so our fancy new survival kit is still unused.
But additional survival kits have been assigned to each of our cars.
We even have one here in the flat! (Lest Dunedin catches this virus of city-shakes.)And we pray we will never need to use them; that the lids will never be lifted and instead collect dust as they rest in the garage/car/shed.
We hold our breath as Christchurch staggers to her feet once more, now covered in cuts where there were previously just bruises.
We shake our heads at her forlorn form.
When Mayor Bob Parker demonstrates how to use a chemical toilet, we slyly dare to crack a smile.
Life adjusts.
Asking for a shower is the new cup-o'-sugar request to neighbours; orange jackets are now casual wear; any room with fewer than two exits is not entered; many will never use a multi-storey car-park building again, and stress cardiomyopathy is quickly becoming trendier than coeliac disease.
Yes, many things in Christchurch have changed, yet some remain doggedly the same.
Our fundamental New Zealandness is unquashed and although she's crying, bleeding and hurting, Christchurch will stand again and she will be all right.
Our Kiwi attitude makes it so and she'll be right does seem to be the best answer to those seemingly unanswerable questions.
We can only hope the Japanese have a mantra of comparable strength.
- Katie Kenny studies English at the University of Otago.
