Everything Connects

Recently, I was invited to speak to a group of young people from South Auckland about my journey in Education and Governance. The venue was located in Mangere, Auckland and despite having started my journey in advocacy in Howick; my journey into Veisinia the passionate advocate really started at 18 Cottingham Crescent, Mangere.

I figured since I had some time before I spoke, I'd go back and have a look at the old stomping ground that would have once had my old childhood house. As I'm taking the back roads to my old house, flashbacks of memories of walking with my grandmother start to hit me. I'm passing old schools that I once attended, bus stops that my grandmother and I would sit and wait for the bus and dairies that I would run to, whenever I was given money from my uncles.

As I'm driving, I start to notice newly developed houses that have replaced old neighbours that would wave to me as I would walk to school, with my grandmother trailing along at the back. I can see empty land with fencing around it with the signs of 'Caution. Don't Enter' preparing for development. I can see my entire street filled with new complexes that are now accommodated by people that I no longer recognise.

I'm entering the road and I notice that many houses have been replaced with white two-storey complexes that bleed gentrification. Right there is where I notice 18 Cottingham Crescent.

No longer was my grandmothers garden full of frangipani's or the mini balcony that I spent tying my rope to because I had no friends [still don't] or the D.I.Y. fencing that added character to the street. Even the old pohutukawa tree that my cousins and I spent climbing up was gone. What was once my childhood house that held all my fondest memories was suddenly gone and I wholeheartedly wasn't ready for that feeling of displacement wash over me.

I felt like I just lost the closest thing to home. I felt like the household that I had my last memories with my grandfather was now replaced with a two-storey white complex that almost looked out of place. It's interesting how the mind plays with you because as I park my car across the street, I'm staring at the newly developed housing and really trying to imagine my old house there. It's almost like I was trying to convince myself that it did exist and that I hadn't just dreamed everything.

Seeing all these new houses felt like I was being repressed. As if all my neighbours were kicked out of there houses and replaced with generic new housing that made all the old houses that were most likely still obtained by some of the original owners look cheap and unsanitary. But that's what I loved about it.

I loved how every house had it's own particular character to it. I loved how the metal fences were painted three different colours of orange, cars were always jam-packed on the front lawn instead of the road, gardens were always filled with all of our grandmothers favourite colours or the neighbourhood kids talking to each other from their windows and their grandmothers yelling at them to stop it. This was what made it home.

Do you ever experience a particular moment where you start to realise that you're coming of age? Whether it may be the birth of your first child, you graduated from High School or you moved to an entirely different country?

This was mine.

I left Cottingham Crescent really lost as a person. At the age of 22, I felt like a refugee in the only place that holds my fondest memories. I never really felt like I was a sentimental person until I realised how much of an attachment I had to this place. It's where I learnt my first Tongan words. It's where I learnt the value of my grandparents. It's where I learnt the meaning of hard work and it's where I could always connect with my culture.

It's funny, I was invited to speak to a group of young people in the hopes to inspire them and I literally arrived lost and confronted with my own loss of identity. I guess when you're at your lowest, you're also your most authentic self. And so I told myself that I'm going to use the most valuable lesson my mother, grandparents and ancestors have ever taught me and that's the power of story-telling.

I scrapped everything that I was going to talk about and instead talked about the parts of Mangere that I remembered growing up. I spoke about the times my grandmother walked through rain, wind and storm to pick me up from school. I talked about the time Countdown that is currently attached to the shopping centre was Foodtown. I talked about Saturday markets and bags of doughnuts. I talked about the fish store that still exists and how it would feel like you're in an aquarium every time you'd go in or the Dickies store that everyone would go to because it was in style back then.

As I'm reminiscing, I start to hear affirmations from the crowd with, 'yoooo', 'das the one' and 'oi...' and then I start to realise that every small memory I've had in Mangere as a child is now, small life-lessons that have helped solidify my purpose as a passionate advocate.

I start to realise that those small lessons that my Tongan speaking grandmother taught me were going to be values that would drive my purpose in advocating for Pacific communities. I start to realise that the many days I missed out on school to assist my grandmother at her doctors' appointments because she didn't speak English, was going to help me understand the importance of accessible healthcare. I start to realise that the four-bedroom house that accommodated nine people was going to be what drives me in my interest in affordable housing and homelessness. I start to realise that my uncle's garden at the back of the house is what sparked my interest in sustainability.

And so, as I'm finishing up my talk. I come to the realisation that,

Everything. Connects.

I'm using my childhood memories to drive the change that I want to see in the world today, and that eventually is a political system that upholds

Left: Six-year-old Sione and Veisinia with Tongan-Speaking Grandmother

the integrity of democracy because at the heart of these issues are people. I'm using my childhood memories to instil values-based frameworks in spaces that don't accomodate people such as myself. I'm using my childhood memories to empower other young people who have walked a similar path.

And so, it's a bittersweet moment when you start to realise that where your childhood home once sat, no longer exists but instead is replaced by a newly developed house that possibly has a six-year-old girl creating her own fondest memories of 18 Cottingham Crescent that would eventually shape her values as a person.

I frequently get asked where did it all start and I guess it started at 18 Cottingham Crescent, Mangere with my Tongan speaking grandmother and my jokester of a grandfather.