Dark Side Of The Moon

Lately, with being so excited about the prospect of moving to Ngaruawahia to start my... whatever its called.
I have been so amazed by my people, by my ancestry, my whakapapa, my whanau.
I have been so proud to call myself Maori, even all my life.

But today, today was different.
An Auntie of my Fathers died one year ago, and as a custom Maori have an unveiling of a tombstone one year after the death of the person.
That was today, and we had the unveiling at a relatives house (I assume we are related)
It started out fine, talking, kisses, hugs, kisses, talking, kisses, the inevitable "you've grown so tall" lines started to roll out as if by some mystical stop watch.

But then to my left, a marijuana plant, 1.5 meters high, to my right cigarettes and their slaves, alcohol and its servants.
It was the side of my people that the world sees and reinforces.
I had been so enamored by the beauty of Parihaka and the pride of my people that i was beginning to become blind to the present day failings of my people.

"Auntie sets out the table, a tablecloth from before i was born.
seven different kinds of plastic chairs
Ash trays next, dusty as antiques
the warranty long void.

Don't forget, boxes upon boxes of beer Auntie
A Sprinkle of bottle caps, Cigarette buts in the hand of the hapu women
As we sing songs of our people
Our people sing songs of mourning
For those
Who sing, smoke, drink and die"

I don't mean to demean my people as thugs, smokers, drinkers etc
But that is a scar we bear, to their credit there are those among them who are a well spring of hope.

Auntie Nai, curses the cigarettes in their hands and the drink in their glass
While loving the hands that hold the poison
Whilst embracing the arms, and taking a kiss from the lips.

There is hope, in the face of reality.
My people are a brilliant canvas, marred by scars.
Illuminated by greatness.