Creative Response - A book and a Pen

A book and a pen written by Vaine Rasmussen

Mmm.

Rolling my eyes and my arms cross, finding its resting spot above my chest

I stand on a lean watching you in a mess.

A drunken mistake made in the island, branded myself a name

Disgusting they say

Hopeless they say

Home wrecking whore, skank, slut, mistress,

Everyone in my village says.

But taking a married man by the hand after fai kava

Leading me into bed of branches,

No night lamp but the moon does us some justice.

A moment of distress, loneliness

My good girl antics died as he wiggled inside of me

In what he calls a moment of weakness

15 with all the hope in the world,

Hanging on my shoulders a heavy satchel

Mr pip. To kill a mocking bird. Year 12 statistics. Year 12 chemistry. Year 12 mathematics.

A pen and a paper.

My struggles to get out of here were pasted brightly with high lighters over all of these books.

I was called the head of the class

My name was posted on the newspapers

I was the one to beat!

Scholarships to New Zealand, to study health science in Otago University

Scholarships to New Zealand, to study law in Victoria University

Scholarships to New Zealand, to study Physics in Auckland University

Drenched in Tongan oil, my culture I wear

The brown colored mats tightly fitted on my back

My ankles, my wrist, my neck chained with the light reminder of where I come from

My hair strapped tightly in a bun with the tree of money falling at every movement.

It begins to dry,

The oil that is.

I do not notice it

I smile and watch my hand move like a calm ocean

As the aunties and uncles run and dance beside me

Throwing expensive paper at my oil stained skin

It does not stick.

I vomit at the smell of powdered milk,

My black face becomes white

My bones then hide under the new layers of fat

As my stomach grows,

I begin to hear the whispers as I wear my uniform,

No longer fitting the way it used to

I walk with my maroon dress to the bus stop

I enter

The whispers become louder.

I leave school

No, I was forced to leave school.

I held onto my culture with two tightly gripped hands

And this is what it has done to me.

If only my faith had been bestowed on my pen, my paper

I could have had it both ways

My customs and my education

Instead, I now watch my blood and my flesh

Making a mess of herself

No longer in the village that secretly shunned me,

But all alone in country that does not know me.

She will not make the mistake that I have made.