Ka ai te waka Matahourua ki te toka tū moana a Te Rerenga o Te Aohuruhuru, ā ka kake ake ahau,
Ka huri whakatetonga tōku kānohi, i reira tūtaki ai te awa Mataikona ki te Moana-nui-ā-Kiwa,
Ka whai ōku kānohi i te takutai, ka huri whakatetokerau, i reira rere ai te awa Owahanga,
E karapoti ana aua wai i tōku papakāinga a Te Hika o Papauma.
Koiā hoki te ingoa o te marae, ko Kupe te tangata,
E here ana ō mātou aho ki a Kahungunu, rātou ko Rongomaiwahine, ko
Rangitāne, ko Apakura,
Ko Cindy Grace tōku whaea, Ko Mark Brickell tōku pāpā,
Ko Heidi Brickell ahau.
That pēpēhā links me back through my mother to an ancient time, the bones of remnants of stories which reside on the land described there. She didn’t teach me to speak Māori, she didn’t know how, and wasn’t particularly interested in learning. She expressed her Māoritanga through her relational orientation, her inclusive nature and her love for people. I think that whakapapa expresses itself more through me in curiosity, creativity and playfulness with knowledge.
I was always drawn to te reo Māori as a child. Even learning to count to a hundred, I was fascinated by how its building blocks put things together differently than English did. So, you could say te reo engaged my mind like a Lego set.
In high school, I got the chance to dive deep into my reo. I was lucky to have incredible, gentle teachers whose respect I could feel as they led me on journeys of letting go of sense and grasping it anew, which is what you do when you learn a second language.