the strength in our stories

bring on 2024!

this AI image generated from Tik Tok has to do with one of my ‘wishes’ to Hiwa-i-te-rangi at Matariki. Bet you can’t guess what the wish was?

Me maumahara Hiwa-i-te-rangi. Remember Hiwa-i-te-rangi. Six  months ago when we celebrated Matariki, the Māori new year. We looked to Hiwa-i-te-rangi, the wishing star. Where are those wishes now?  How are they being actualised?

I’m looking back at the last 6 months since Matariki and reflecting and resetting again for the next 6 months. I feel pretty blessed to be Māori and Pakeha (and Niuean and Samoan) because I get to celebrate 2 New Years. Even in this time where it seems like the current government is threatening to takes us as Māori and Pacific peoples many many steps backwards, I believe we will rise stronger in solidarity. Māori, tangata tiriti and non-Māori alike.

And here’s why: A good friend of mine, spent her day yesterday painting posters for a New Years Eve parade that happens in her community every year. Apparently there is a prize for the best float. We had a chuckle about how well their particular float might be received in this small community where a lot of rich people have bought batches and built flash houses and come out there every holiday, but never actually stay.

She said to me, ‘This is good practise for me doing these placards.”

I frowned and asked, ‘Why do you need practise painting placards?”

Her reply back was, “I think there’s going be a lot of protesting going on in 2024.”  

She’s not wrong. There will be songs of resistance in all forms. I thought how poignant their float was. A statement in a small community at a New Years Eve float parade. It probably won’t win best float by the judges. But I’d vote for it. Hands down.

This small act also reminded me of how awesome we are as Māori. I read this poem on Facebook yesterday which was a reflection about the narratives that we have written about ourselves. But what about the other stories? It felt good to read it and celebrate the fucken awesome parts of what it is to be Māori as well. And as Ati Tuhoe ended in his poem:

Cause fuck being the victim in my story,

I’m the villain,

I’m the hero.

I’m the author.

And this is the triumph of being me.

Of being us!

And just now, I re-read this post from Story of a hori about the power of our stories.

I see the story as a waka, in which we can travel across time, and through dimensions, to connect with ourselves and others. I also see that this waka can be pulled by two different taniwha. Each taniwha represents the way the story is framed. If the story I tell reinforces the idea that I am powerless, then this taniwha and waka will carry me into the silent, spooky, swampland, alone, where I can get stuck.

If the story I tell reinforces the idea that I am limitless, and that this is a part of who I am, by whakapapa (even if I don’t know my whakapapa), this taniwha and waka will carry me across vast expanses. I might even notice that I have a support crew (my tupuna) travelling with me. And I’m not limited to just the ocean.

My sister in law said to me, after I was bemoaning the fact that the Universe did not seem to be placing a vast array of men for me to date at my feet:

“Don’t let the Universe write your story for you. Only you can write your story.”

I wrote those words down.  I think I will go back on the dating app again next year.

My son did this painting for me for Christmas. On it were these words:

“You will not determine my story for me. I will.”

Here’s to writing and living our own stories and that we are limitless.

TIHEI, Mauriora!