On behalf of all white people, of all New Zealand Europeans who are called Sally or Paul or Abby, who didn’t care enough to learn your name properly or your story, I apologise. You deserve better. A person’s name is intrinsic and tied to their identity. It is part of who they are, and oftentimes can be a family name carried down over many generations.
Any time your name is mangled, I’m guessing it probably hurts. Or it used to. Perhaps now, unfortunately, you’re used to it. You should know that your name is beautiful/handsome/exquisite in its uniqueness. It has weight and it has strength. Be proud, and don’t accept being called anything else.
You don’t have to be old to be a teacher, and you don’t have to be young to be a learner. There is so much I don’t know, but I want to understand. Open your waha and sing and speak and evolve as a human, for what else is there to do in life?
I’m not interested in where anyone is at, I’m interested in where they’re going.
I am reminded of a waiata from my year 4 class at school. I had a very cool teacher who learned to play guitar – instead of “feminine” flax weaving – even though in her culture that was supposed to be the man’s thing to do. J’adore la papillon.
| Pūrerehua rere runga hau Papaki parirau Rere runga hau (Ka piki, ka piki Runga rawa e Papaki parirau rere runga hau.) x 2 |
Butterfly carried on the wind. Fluttering its wings on the wind Up and up Way up high Fluttering its wings on the wind |
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