Creative Response - The Unfinished Fence by Vilsoni Hereniko

He had been caught. The paint on his hands was proof. He had been working, and working on a tourist visa, nonetheless! What would his wife think? He had promised her that he would return, with lots of money for them, their home, their children and their village. But what would the police do now? Would they take away his earnings? Deport him? Ban him from the fruitful and prosperous country that was New Zealand? What would he do for work? Where would he go for work? New Zealand was his hope, his family’s hope!

He sat alone in a desolate gaol cell. Oh, the shame! He was like an animal, trapped in a cage. What would happen to him now?

And poor Mrs Davidson. He hadn’t collected her post. The clock on the wall said it was just after three-thirty p.m. She must be worried sick!

Ha! his inner voice scoffed. She won’t be worried about you! You’re just a coconut!

Jimi’s inner voice was wrong. Mrs Davidson would be worried about him. They were friends. He worked for her, he talked with her, he did nice things for her. Of course she would be worried. Who would collect her post now?

And the worst part: he never finished the fence.

No Scandinavian Name

Her first,
meaning Ash-Tree Meadow.
Of English Origin
to represent her English heritage.

Ashleigh.

Her second,
derived from 'Monica'
meaning alone, advisor, wise
Of French Origin
Although she has no French in her.

Monique.

Her last,
given by her father,
first given by a King
Ne a meta oculos avertam
Never give up
From Neamestown, County Wexford, Ireland,
her family's hometown.

Neame.

She is part scandinavian.

She has no scandinavian name.

I am Kiwi

Creative Response to 'Fast Talkin PI' by Selena Tusitala Marsh 

I am a Kiwi

I am a female Kiwi

I am a teenage Kiwi

I am a brunette Kiwi

I am a fair-skinned Kiwi

I am a blue-eyed Kiwi

I am a big sister Kiwi

I am a daughter Kiwi

I am a granddaughter Kiwi

A niece

A babysitter

I am a Kiwi

I am a student Kiwi

Of a Kiwi university

I am a Kiwi

I am a pakehā Kiwi

I am an English speaking Kiwi

I am a Kiwi

I’m a south side Kiwi

I am a Kiwi from Manurewa

I am an Auckland Kiwi

I am a JAFA Kiwi

I am a writing Kiwi

A self-published novel writing Kiwi

An internet addicted Kiwi

I am Kiwi

I am an Aotearoaen Kiwi

I am a land of the long white cloud Kiwi

I’m a born and bred Kiwi

I am Kiwi

Creative Response - Sons of the return home

Chapter One

She sat there, blonde hair, fair skined arms rushing above that piece of paper
making note? writing a letter? drawing? scribbling?
Although her presences and her questions annoyed me,
her nameless face remained.
Imprinted into my brain, the last thing that came to mind
before my eyes closed.
Her figure out lined,
her violet soft toned voice echoing questions of annoyance.
it bothered me than, but if comforted my quite mind with her tone used as a lullaby.
She wont leave.
I wont let her.
I'll keep her locked into my mind, as a deep dark secret
until that day comes where my culture makes that choice for me.

With my head in my books, before she could made her strong impression
she walked in with a boiling cup of chocolate brown cocoa, with a teaspoon of milk not stirred, just lurking above.
Just the way I like it.
She always did things that way. The way I like it.
Oka gutted, scaled and cubed in to small pieces of flesh
laced with white cream, spiced with natural pants from the super market
down my throat, spicy and fresh. She made the oka the way I liked it.
Her large islander body imprinted deep into my freshly laid sheets.
She watched as I took quick sips of the hot cuppa and mumbled answers that she wanted to hear.
To make her leave.
Now.
"Dont study to hard. Go to sleep"
bidding me goodnight.

These two.
One who share my features, my skin, my eyes and my heritage
differed strongly from me.
The other who looked like a ghost next to me, her white skin, blonde hair and her open personality shared my feelings.
Both sharing one thing in common, noticing me.
They never will understand each other.
Two worlds that collide through me.
Both with my love and with respect, making the decisions difficult to make.
But I will always to my culture
and my mother.

Response to: Samoan From Foreign Soil

Born and Bred
by Ashleigh Neame

***

An essential essence
of being Samoan
is making the pilgrimage back to Samoa.
I think not!

I am classed as a
New Zealand European
but I have not been to Europe
so doesn't that make me not
New Zealand European?

Europe is not my heart.
England is not my heart.
New Zealand is my heart.

I am not
New Zealand European.
I am
New Zealander.

Aotearoa is not my adopted nation.
It is not my family's adopted nation.
It IS our nation.
It is our home.

So why are we classed as
New Zealand European?
We are clearly
New Zealander.

Samoaness from foreign soil.

If that were really, honestly, truly
true
then should England be calling me?

I am not English, Rev Mua Strickson-Pua.
I am New Zealander.
England does not call to me.
I do not want tea and scones.
I hate tea and scones.

Fish and chips.
Pavlova.
The Buzzy Bee that clicks as you tow it along.
These are icons of my culture.
I am
New Zealander.

You say that making peace requires fronting up.
I have made my peace.
I have fronted up.
I am NOT
New Zealand European.

I am New Zealander.

Born and bred.

Seminar Response - Distant Memory

To know ones history
is to know how your family
ended up where you are today.
To know ones lineage
is to know your family.
I know where I come from:
Ireland
Norway
England
Australia
New Zealand.
My ancestors spoke English,
so I speak the language of my ancestors
yes.

The villages of my parents
is Manurewa
and Mangere.
I have been to Mangere.
I live in Manurewa.
There are no tears from my elders,
when they speak about their parents.
Happy tales only.
We do not have one family cemetery,
unless you count Waikumete but no one has been buried there in a while.
Children don't play in my parents' village.
In Mangere, they wander the streets.
In Manurewa, they stay inside and let their pitbulls roam free.

My home is here, and I see it everyday.
I have seen as much as I can of the landmarks of our family.
Unfortunately,
there aren't many left.

I want to go to Neamestown, County Wexford, Ireland.
I want to see where the first Neame was born.
I want to see the land the Neame's used to own.

I will travel, but I will not travel home
for Auckland, New Zealand is my home.
I will travel to the lands of my ancestors,
see the village named after the Neame's
see the new Oslo, Norway, and hopefully the old Oslo, where the Olsen's are from.
I will see the Shepherd Neame brewery in Kent, England,
where a Neame started brewing strong ale with a Shepherd
I want to taste the beer that my family used to make.

Closer to home, I will go to Nelson, where my Pop was born.
I will go to Australia, where my
great-great-great-great-great grandfather
was sent, after stealing from his master,
where he took a second wife, even though the first was alive.

I don't belong to these countries
except for New Zealand
but my ancestors were part of those other histories.
Those countries are their special places
and are special to me too,
but Auckland, New Zealand is my home.

Creative Response - Distant Memory

Creative Response – Distant Memory

This shaky cliff top I stood upon overlooking the baby blue oceans

The breeze of the uncertainty of the coconut and palms trees made me shift uncomfortably

Barefoot, naked to the eye wanted to be covered from my shame

My grass kiekie woven with tears of my ancestors wrapped me with insecurities

My covered chest wanted to bust into the movement of the west

No longer wanting to dance in purity

Wanting to be a savage with the African beat infused with the harmonics of a European keyboard

The shaky cliff swayed in the direction of my emotions,

I was no longer firmly rooted as much as I thought I was.

The great controversy began in my mind

My feet kept from leaping into the tears of my elder

But my sun kissed tanned hand wanted to welcome the great fall into this form of acceptance

But why were my mind and feet in unison?

They were not budging; they refused to fall at the mercy of this distant memory

Memories that were not mine played in mind

The great escape out of the luva

The tree where we would meet

My lover and I.

The sacrificing tears and scars of a wounded mother

Preparing a table with one piece of kumala, one piece of lu to feed 13 children.

The early morning rising, running to meet my father at the wharf

Hands ready to receive the white passengers who came in the name of the Lord

Here on a mission.

Being sent to the main island to study

The rejection of the English classes that could estate a bright future,

Wagging on stretch of denial and hate

These were not mine,

I never found myself in this situation.

I never took the road less travelled on, yet I was here.

The shaky cliff I remained

The calls of my “past” were becoming unbearable

They were mourning, whaling my name for me to hear in hopes that I would make the return.

Looking into the raging waters as they hit my shaky cliff I turned my back to them

And I embraced the steady green ground of the long white cloud.

The tears of promise left my eyes

I vowed to make the return

So that my memory was no longer the distant one they spoke of.

This is a response to the poem Distant memory written by Rev Pua Strickson Mua. Ashleigh and I presented this poem for our group presentation. 

I wanted to further explain why I responded from this point of view. My poem expresses my inner thoughts and issues that I face when deciding whether to make a return back to the land of my parents. As an islander who was predominately raised in New Zealand, I struggled with finding where I belong. Which is why I wrote in this manner, it was a confrontation of my own thoughts and beliefs. I actually thought that I was firmly rooted in who I was and where I came from, but reading this poem brought doubt to my mind. I did not know anything about my heritage, I don't even speak the language and up to that point not knowing these things never really bothered me. That was when I realized there was a battle that I had to deal with where I am now and what I call home and where I'm from and where I belong. But I do promise to return and make that connection, but not now.