In a mood

You stole my house you bastard. Told me to cast my eyes heavenward because I am so full of sin (Then I wouldn’t notice what you were doing). Told me that I’m the most likely to die by suicide (then you wouldn’t have to deal with me). Told me that I’m dumb (so I’d better follow your rules). Told me that I do not belong (in my own house!). That I’d better start praying because God is jealous (You are the jealous one - I see you).

You built a big fence too. The foreign neighbours are allowed inside. They are glamorous and generous (and they won’t mention your misdeeds if you don’t mention theirs - especially if they have money or some kind of influence). But I’m not welcome. Even though you and I both know it’s my house.

I yelled at the gate, sometimes demanding and sometimes pleading to be let in. You said I can come inside if I change the way I look. So I dressed funny and tamed my hair.

You said: “Oh but I didn’t just mean that! Don’t be silly! You’ll never fit in if you come in like that!” 

You promised I could move in if I went to school, got an education and a respectable career; if I met all of your requirements. I used your jargon and I followed your rules. I quit smoking and tried not to cuss. I behaved in “a professional manner”.

Some of my family were angry and started to make a noise. They rattled the gates and held up many mirrors. You sent your sons out to take them away (out of sight - out of mind). You told your friends and family what savages they were and how they distressed you so. 

Once, you let me in to the laundry-room. I had changed enough of myself to be tolerable to you. But I realised I was only there to clean your conscience. You made a mess and then blamed me. Your children would attack me but were not reprimanded. Instead of consequences, they were given my inheritance. I was not allowed to show my face when your guests were around either. Heavens no! Back outside for you!

Then one day your guests asked if you knew any people like me. They had discovered that being different was valuable. And most importantly, marketable. You asked for my clothes and my words, my songs and my prayers. And then shut the door. I watched through the window as you did a grotesque dance for them. Your guests clapped in delight even though the clothes did not fit and your mouth couldn’t hold the tune. You accepted the gifts they gave you but did not share them with me. 

Here I am. Still standing in the cold. Locked out of my own house. You’ve been wrecking it too. You call me a savage but you’re the one shitting in the kitchen. You’ve left the taps running and all of the lights on. The bulbs are blowing one-by-one. The foundations are crumbling beneath your feet. You flatly deny that you’re standing in a puddle. You keep asking me for more and more, just so you can give it away to your “friends”. 

I’m allowed in the yard now. And I had better be grateful for this handout. I’ve given you all the advice in the world about how to care for the house, even though I’m not allowed in it. It’s such a beautiful house. But you can’t receive the advice because you won’t acknowledge the damage. You can’t restore what’s broken if you don’t own your part in the abuse of it. And you can’t achieve balance if you won’t step down from your pedestal.

I hear my ancestress Mahuika: “I’ve shared my children with you and you have gutted every one. I’m down to the last. Her light is luminous. She dances with magic. I don’t know whether to hide her for future generations or burn this whole house down… Maybe I’ll do both.”

You want me to help you? Neho. 

I am frustrated and grieving. I don’t particularly hate anyone. This is part of my healing. I am remembering who I am.