things closed, things open

Closed.

Mum and Dad's suitcases are packed and stand solidly at the end of the bed while they sleep. My smaller suitcase is full and a pile of things to take on the plane in a carry-on bag sits in a pile alongside. We're all moving out tomorrow morning: them, to San Fran and eventually Wellington... me, to Minneapolis. Our amazing month together has finally drawn to a close. When they got here the end of April seemed years away, and now it has arrived with a screech and a bump right outside the front door. This time together is almost over.

Open.

A box holding quite a few copies of my book arrived at home in NZ today. Megan and Matiu had picked it up for me from  the courier there, and this morning while Mum, Dad and I skyped with Megan and Matiu I asked about the box and whether it had arrived okay. Matiu leapt up and went to the front door, swaying slightly as he re-entered the lounge and came back onscreen, holding a huge (well, beside him) and heavy (this would have been true for anyone, I suspect!) box. In front of the camera he excitedly opened the bax, and I asked 'Matiu do you know what it is?' and he replied 'it's your book Auntie' and then asked his Mum 'is it a chapter book?' When we told him it was, he got even more excited and announced that his mother should read a chapter of the book aloud over skype. The books finally made it through the packaging, and he held up one of the books, and turned to the computer (to me) and asked 'can I have one of these?' Of course I told him he could, and - and this made me teary, I'll admit - he picked up one of the copies and then held onto it tightly for the rest of our conversation. Megan agreed to read the beginning of a chapter, and read the first paragraph of the acknolwedgements page. Matiu heard his own name, and afterwards looked through that page to find his name written there in black and white. His face shifted when he found it: he was stoked, surprised, thrilled, excited. Me? I was crying. I mean, this is what this is all about.

Closed, open. Closed, open.

Life is about things opening and closing, going in and out. Its unceasing. Continuous. In out, in out, in out. In my part of the world, we'd call it a tide.  

quick thoughts about a film

Don McCullin is an astounding, foundational and inspiring photographer who focussed for many years on way and warzones, bringing to our atention the images which demonstrate the stakes of political decisions: this is what policies look like 'on the ground.' Harrowing, controvesial, humanitarian. His work is interested in the dignity and perspective of the people he represents, and the result is that his work is amazing, compelling, tricky, beautiful, haunting...

Dad and I went to see a film about this man tonite as part of the 'Hot Docs' documentary film festival held here in May each year. As a bonus, the filmmaker and one of the key interviewees from the film and Don himself attended the film screening, and they addressed us and answered questions so we could get something further of their perspective... amazing! Only in Toronto!

I've got many thoughts about the film, but am too tired to write about them all tonite. For now, though, I would say that I loved the film, and the questions of ethics, practice, violence and creativity that it raused. Good choice Dad! ;)

nearing the ending of things...

I'm in Penetanguishene, two hours north of Toronto, where Daniel and Kent hosted me not long after I first arrived in Canada. Mum, Dad and I drove up here this morning and we've had a lovely afternoon of being toured around the local area and then an evening of talking heaps and eating good food.

Mum and Dad are leaving Canada on Sunday... Daniel and Kent are leaving for Vancouver in May... I'm leaving Toronto in June and leaving Aotearoa in July...

So many departures and endings; so many conversations about preparation, timeframes, plans, packing, new possibilities, downsizing, hopes, fears, memories... so much coming, going and journeying. So many new turns in the roads of so many relationships.

Sometimes it feels like the endings and beginnings of things are at either end of long stretches of 'life,' connecting each stretch to the other and marking the passage of time during the journey from beginnings to endings and vice versa.

Tonite, I find myself thinking that endings and beginnings are journeys too: journeys for which we prepare, journeys that involve a balance of risk and confidence, journeys that shape us. 

drama

There was drama in Toronto tonite: drama as in theatre.

This afternoon, Mum and I went and had our harcut at a small salon around the corner from my place, and the hairdresser (who was hilarious - didn't stop talking the entire time and yes I know what that sounds like coming from  me - hehe) was rushing off to watcher her 12 year old daughter who was in a school play this evening. She was so clearly proud of her daughter, gently complaining of the drama of it all in order to have a chance to talk about her.

Then this evening, Mum and I went to a play at the Factory Theatre - it was called Oil and Water and was absolutely amazing. The play centred on the story of an African American man from Georgia who was in the navy during WWII and washed ashore covered in oil when the ship he was in capsized off the coast of Newfoundland in Canada. The story was woven alongside a later moment in the same man's life when his daughter was going through the torturous process of 'integrating' a school in Boston: white students and adults tormented the black kids who went to the school, and she became fearful of what was going to happen. Meanwhile, all through the play, a key character was his great-grandmother who was enslaved and who spoke to him through direct interations and through suggestion. Also throughout the play, the actors sang amazing amazing a capella music - really quite incredible - and somehow they did it in a way that added to the play rather than just sounding like something they could have played on CD instead. The play was ultimately about race, and the thickness of the membrane between two kinds of difference, and the opportunity people have to think about the racial dynamics of 'home' when far, far away.

It was such a pleasure to go to the play with Mum - she and Dad are both going on a 'hot date' of some sort with me this week... Mum loves plays, and Dad loves movies... so on Friday Dad and I are going to check out a film in the 'Hot Docs' documentary film festival held in Toronto each year.

Another kind of drama today, of a slightly quieter kind... my book arrived! It's real. Really real. I mean, I knew it was real... but now it's real.

Au e Ihu, tirohia

First ANZAC Day without Grandad. Now he is by his brother, Hamuera Paora Te Punga, who was buried in Italy in 1944.

This morning Megan and Matiu were watching the ANZAC ceremonies at dawn and a kotuku flew onto the property and landed on their roof.

He kotuku rerenga tahi.

toronto

back home in toronto. absolutely exhausted, but sitting here on the couch with a new cornell tshirt i'm wearing for pjs, and turquoise toenails from a pedicure with mum and alyss in philly... plus, great memories in my head.... i find that i am grateful. for all of it!

bye bye miss american pie...

Tomorrow we'll cross back into Canada, leaving America behind us. Sitting here tonite, in the kitchen of my auntie and uncle in Philadelphia, I find myself reflecting on the journey over the past several days with Mum and Dad.

In many ways, it has been a journey around a diverse and complicated place... at the level of human lives and various environmental and urban ecosystems, this trip has covered a vast range. We have stopped at Buffalo, NY; Chardon, OH; Sturgis, MI; South Chicago, IL; Chicago, IL; Grant Park, IL; Columbus, OH; Nelsonville, OH; Charleston, WV; Charlotte, NC; Lexington, VA; Washington DC; Gettysburg, PA; Phildelphia, PA; and (tomorrow) Ithaca, NY. An independent bookstore in Charleston, a diner in Gettysburg, a home beside a pond in Charlotte, a Chinese takeaway shop in Maryland, a Bakery in Chicago, a cafe in Virginia, the original home of buffalo wings in, yes, Buffalo.

In many ways, it has been a journey around family: graveyards, sites of significant occasions, cousins we had never met before, relatives we know and see when we visit each other in various countries. We've seen photos, churches, letters, and tombstones. We've shared stories, gossip, hopes, tears and many, many laughs.

In many ways, it has been a journey around a nation: a complex, tricky, compelling nation. We've tracked our way through various states (New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Michigan, Illinois, West Virigina, Virginia, North Carolina, DC, Maryland) and have noted the names of an even wider range of states (and Provinces, at times) on car license plates. We've been at key sites of the American Revolution and the Civil War; we have seen the White House and its kitchen gardens, as well as trailer parks and Walmarts; we have been to Museums that describe what feel like completely different countries. We've struggled with the massive chasm between the values of humanity and equality the Revolution and Civil War and the reality of various communities in the US. Today, Alyssa and I went with Mum and Dad to see the 'Liberty Bell' in Philadelphia, and I couldn't help but think about the large crack in the bell which had been there from its first inception, and the kind of metaphor a cracked Liberty Bell might be.

Alyssa and me at the Liberty Bell, Philadelphia.

In many ways, it has been a journey in my relationship with my parents: 'putting memories in the memory bank,' as I am too keenly aware than my decision to move to Hawai'i means I will be visiting them, rather than living with or alongside or near them, for a few years to come. I discovered new things about my parents: Mum loves popcorn! Dad is interested in the Civil War! I also affirmed, confirmed and extended things I already knew about them. They are wonderful and amazing and very fun. I will never forget driving through rural Indiana with them, listening to a radio station dedicated to crooning 50s music...

In many ways, it has been a journey of journeys: an SUV, maps, printed out and handwritten mapquest directions, drive thrus and service centres, filling up with more gas, reading the north/south/east/west orientation as well as temperature of the car, phonecalls & stops to seek directions, sleeping in the backseat, chatting in the front seat, bottles of water and paper cups of coffee.

In many ways, it has been a journey of America. As I've had the chance to get to know myself and my parents better, I've had a chance to get to know this place better too. For the first time, I've been travelling around the US with a sense of being an immigrant: from my arrival in late July this year, this will be where I live, who I am, what I know... For better, for worse, for histories, for family, for Liberty and for its flaws.

I'll see you soon, America.