Editorial: Dear Dad, all of my stories are for you

E Pā: Māu āku tuhinga katoa 

I te Māehe, ka tae mai tētahi īmēra i tētahi pūkenga e mea ana mō tā Massive kimi i tētahi kaituhi ao Māori hōu. Ka pūhoto au, ka panuku tonu, karo ai i ngā īmēra e 2,134 kāore anō i pānuitia i taku pouakauru. 

Engari kāore i taea te karo te reo i tōku hinengaro e mea ana kia kaua e karo i taua īmēra kotahi. Ka kōhimuhimutia mai ngā kupu akiaki e te reo o tōku pāpā. He rite tonu tāna akiaki i ahau — mēnā rānei he hurō i tētahi kēmu hākinakina, he whakahāneaneatia rānei ahau ki ngā pukuhohe-pāpā kino nei. 

Nā reira, me te korenga hoki o ngā kawatau, ka tukuna tāku tononga, ka ngana ki te wareware. Engari e taea te aha. Kīhai i taea te whakataha i te kōingo ki te angitutanga e ngū nei, e titikaha nei hoki. Tērā nako kia whakataunaki atu, kaua mōku noa te take, engari kē ia mō taku matua. Nāna i Māori ai tōku whakapapa — nāna āku akoranga mō tō māua iwi, mō te reo, mō te tikanga hoki. Nāna au i hiahia ai kia takahi i tēnei ara. 

Me taku ohorere hoki — i pēnā au. 

Mutu ana taku titonga ohia i te uiuinga, nāwai rā ka tae mai tētahi īmēra e mea nei kua whiwhi au i te tūranga. Hei tāku i tioro au. 

“Auē, e hika”, tāku i whakaaro ai, “me pēnei anō au ināianei.” 

Pakaru katoa ana ngā hamuti. I pāngia au e te mate whakataruna — i kaha taku whakapae kāore i tika taku noho ki te tūranga nā. Heoti, ka whakamahara i ahau anō mō te take i tīmata ai au — mō taku matua te take. E kore rawa ia e hiahia kia rangirua au i tōku taha Māori. Kua hiahia kē ia kia uma kūkupa ahau i tēnā, pēnei i a ia. Ki te kore ko au te pūtake o taku tū, ko ia kē. 

I ngā marama kua taha ake nei, kua nui ake āku akoranga mō te ao pāpāho me te ao Māori tērā i tāku i whakapae ai. Kua taiāwhio taku omanga i taku rūma i muri i ia uiuinga rawe, kua pēnā i te ngutungutu ahi tāku tuku i āku tuhinga hukihuki i te 11:48pm nā tāku whakatonanawe, ā kāti, kua pupuri ki ngā tānga hōu o te maheni i ia ata Mane. I te putanga o ia tuhinga ka rongo au i te tānekaha haere o taku taukaea Māori — nā whai anō, ka whakatata atu ki tōku matua. 

He wā hoki tōna ka mānukanuka au. Ka pēnā ana, ka rongo au i te reo o tōku matua i tōku hinengaro e kupu ana mō tētahi mea kua kore rawa nei e wareware i ahau. 

“E pai ana kia mānukanuka, ko te mea nei e kaingākautia nei e koe.” 

Na, e kaingākautia nei. Pēnei i tā tōku matua kaingākau mai ki au. Katoa āku mahi e whakaihi ana i a ia me te kōingo e oti pēhea nei i a ia te pānui. E kore tēnei e tuhia e au me kore ake ko ia — kāore anō au kia tuhi i te aha ake nei me kore ko ia. Ko ōna ringa hei aratakinga mō ōku ringa, ā, ka pēnā tonu haere ake nei. 

Back in March I got an email from a lecturer which said Massive was looking for a new te ao Māori writer. I sighed and kept scrolling, proceeding to ignore the 2,134 unread emails in my inbox.   

But I couldn’t ignore a voice in my head telling me not to ignore that one email. My dad’s voice whispered quiet words of encouragement. He was always encouraging me – whether he was cheering me on at sports games or cheering me up with awful dad jokes. 

So, with absolutely no expectations, I sent in my application and tried to forget about it. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t shake the quiet, yet inescapable desire to succeed. The need to prove myself, not for my own sake, but my dad’s. It’s through him that I whakapapa Māori -- he taught me about our iwi, te reo, and of tikanga. I wanted to do this for him.  

And to my surprise – I did.  

After improvising my way through an interview, I soon got an email telling me I was hired. I think I screamed.  

Fuck, I thought. I actually have to do this now.  

I was terrified. I had awful impostor syndrome – so sure that I wasn’t the right fit for the job. But I reminded myself why I started – for my dad. He wouldn’t want me to doubt my taha Māori. He’d want me to be proud of it just like him. If I couldn’t do it for myself, I’d do it for him.  

Over the last few months, I’ve learnt more about the world of journalism and te ao Māori than I ever expected. From running laps around my room after every successful interview, to deliriously submitting my drafts at 11:48pm after heavily procrastinating, to holding the fresh copies of the magazine every Monday morning. With every article, I felt myself grow stronger in my Māori identity – grow closer to my dad.  

I still get nervous sometimes. When that happens, I hear my dad’s voice in my head telling me something I’ve never forgotten.   

“It’s good to be nervous, it means that you care.”  

And I do. Just like my dad cared for me. I dedicate all of my mahi to him in the hope that he can read it somehow. I wouldn’t be writing this without him – I've never written anything without him. His hands guide mine and they will for the rest of my life.  

— Arohanui, Grace.