Fifi Colston drew my attention to Matariki and I found there's a kapa haka concert/competition in QLD later in the month but no local celebration that I've discovered yet. Now some mornings I take my putorino down to Coogee for dawn but when I think about doing it this Sunday - ie 24 hours away - all I can think of is that two of the people who got it for me are dead.
And this Saturday was the unveiling for one of them in Petone. And her sister suggested I write something to be read out at the unveiling. And I all I can think of doing is screaming out "I wish you were'nt dead" which might sound better in Te Reo but still doesn't need to be said. And I don't want to think remember hearing father at the Tangi crying in the rain and saying over and over "this is wrong - you shouldn't bury your children". And he is right - it is wrong. And the sheer bloody wrongness of it all tears at me.
And the madness of it all, and the memories of her, and her family, and where we worked, and parties, and a clever little daughter - and finding her again via the net 17 years after we last spoke and emailing her new work place to find she'd died the week before, on holiday in Malaysia, after cut-price cosmetic surgery and a whole world of wrongness opened up to me then.
I realised too late that I've been thinking that the unveiling was planned for Sunday. I sent my message to Ewa too late - about the time she would have been heading to the urupa arther than the day before. This is what Ewa might have read:
"I miss Krysia.
When I met her and soon afterwards Moanaroa and Eddie and Ewa and Keri-Mei I was very lost.
I'd talked myself into a job I couldn't really do properly at the Shop at the National Museum.
I was Krysia's boss.
Yeah right!
While I wandered around for three years
pretty much not being able to find my butt without using both hands
Krysia ran the Museum Shop,
and me,
and bought up Keri-Mei,
was a daughter
a sister
a friend
and did all the many other things that she is loved for.
When Taonga Maori opened at the museum Alan Baker the Director was sidelined by a mob of new middle managers
- he was a marine biologist and out of his depth amongst sharks in three piece suits.
He gave a brief speech and as it finished a quiet mumbled waiata began in Kiwi-reo
and then from the kitchen came this huge voice and through the entrance came Krysia
- like a yacht in full sail
- and she sang and strode towards the Director
- and everyone who knew the waiata joined in behind her
- and everyone who respected, Alan, the Museum and the taonga also joined in
- and suddenly this awkward Department of Internal Affairs off the shelf - paint by numbers powhiri became magnificent.
The Museum became magnificent,
Alan Baker became magnificent,
the air was electric with the staffs' respect for Alan,
words like aroha and tautoko became feelings not ideas
and the world was a better place.
Krysia knew that what was happening was wrong and she stepped out to change it
- not caring about how others reacted.
And we all got behind her
so pleased
and so proud to be part of what she'd started.
When Ewa suggested she could read out some words from me all I could think was:
"I wish you weren't dead - this is wrong"
but now I'm also thinking
"Krysia you were always beautiful,
you were often so strong,
you often knew what was right
and what was good
and you made a difference to the people around you.
and you made a difference for the people around you.
The world is a better place
because of who you were
who you are
And I am a better person
because of who you were
who you are
Thank you
Thank you
Thank you""
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