Amelia Rigsby
“
“I remember going to an exhibition held at the Fiji Museum a few years ago called “What Were You Wearing?”. The exhibition centred on the outfits that victims of sexual assault were wearing when they were attacked. Before leaving for the event, I remember looking in the mirror and steeling myself for the night ahead; I was fully prepared to see outfits worn by young women and ladies, but it was the sight of little girl’s dresses and boys primary school uniforms that broke me.
In those tiny clothes, I saw the faces of my beautiful daughter and my sweet son. But more than that, it brought back haunting memories of my own experience and how, even to this day, I haven’t had the courage to speak to my family about it. Not because I’m ashamed of what happened, but because I worry that my Father would somehow blame himself.
The morning it happened was like any other morning. I waited at the bus stop for my sister and brother to arrive, not realising that they were still waiting for me in front of my Dad’s office. When the college student pulled up in his car, I thought nothing of it.
It has taken me years to acknowledge what happened to me on that cold Arkansas morning. It wasn’t until I was in my 30s that I finally had the courage to speak about it during a Poetry SLAM. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what compelled me to share it that night; maybe it was because of that exhibition at the Fiji Museum, maybe it was because I was tired of always tiptoeing around it, but after I finished my piece, I walked off stage, straight out of the Top Bar at Traps and down the stairs not really sure what I was doing or where I was going. I was hovering in the entrance when Peter Sipeli found me and hugged me while I wept.
Even now, I can feel myself tearing up and I’m not completely sure why. Maybe it’s the pain I feel whenever I choose to remember it or the pain of trying to forget. I’m not sure. But I do know one thing – I have never blamed myself for what happened. Ever. Even at that age, I knew that I was the child and he was the adult.
However, despite knowing that, there has been a great deal of shame. Shame that maybe I was less than, that I wasn’t as worthy as other women because I was tainted. I allowed what happened to mar how I see myself and to justify the horrible ways in which people have treated me in the past. Things like “You’re not worth it”, “Of course they would treat you this way” and “Why would anyone want you?”
It is the still, quiet voice that whispers to us in our most vulnerable times that does the most damage. Because who knows us better than ourselves? Who knows our weaknesses and our faults better than we do? Sometimes, we are our own worst enemies.
So, I say to YOU now – to you who are hurting, to you who are constantly fighting the urge to give in to the voice at the back of your mind that is persistent in telling you that you are not worth it, please believe me when I say that this world is so much better because you are in it.
Wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, know that as someone who has battled their own demons stands in solidarity with you to remind you that you are worthy.
We are valued. We are beautiful. We have so much to offer the world.”
Sivendra Michael
“
“There is generally a perception amongst Pacific communities that every child needs a mother or a motherly figure to support their upbringing. I am not against such perceptions because I have an amazing mum who bought me up, but I still struggle each day dealing with the people in my community, my close friends and even family members who undermine my role as a single-dad.
I am a proud single dad to a 7-year-old daughter named Sophia. A few years ago, my ex-wife and I jointly decided that our marriage was not working out simply because of our competing priorities. We tried and acknowledged our own differences and challenges, which is the best thing any couple can do because we admitted to our flaws. Jointly, we decided that Sophia’s upbringing should not be surrounded by unnecessary arguments and she should be given the much-needed love and care by both of us. However, in our situation, we acknowledged how critical it was for Sophia to have one of us always around and given that Sophia and I were living in another country for some time while I was pursing my PhD, we thought to leave the arrangements as it is.
As if dealing with the separation wasn’t a challenge in itself, the custodial arrangements under our colonised judicial system signalled an equally discriminatory view towards men getting custody of their children. I was frustrated and taken aback by the legal system that solidified the views of our society towards men. Whilst delivering his verdict, the Judge in his words, said “Mr. Michael, in my years of being in Fiji, it is quite rare for a father to get sole custody, so you should be happy that things are working out in your favour”. My emotions knew no bounds and I stood up and responded that his statement was discriminatory and the fact that he was discriminatory towards men being labeled solo-dads. I ignored the frowns and subsequent remarks that followed however I had to let it off my chest because I was constantly subject to this perception prior to the court judgment. I was healing already from the separation and dealing with the chaotic custody process left me shattered.
Solo parenting is certainly challenging and I thank the many other single dads who reached out and gave me words of advice and inspired me. Each day, I reflect on the mistakes I have made and try to improve on little things such as my tone or managing responsibilities and talking about sensitive issues. I always go back to my first few difficult months when I had to see a psychologist. It felt so foreign, and I had struggled to cope with studies and parenting. Sometimes, the loneliness sank in and that feeling of being a sense of failure burdened me. Perhaps, I was overthinking what the world thought of me and I isolated myself from those that would ask me questions about the process. I am constantly baffled at my parents and anyone who suggests to find another partner without realising that my daughter’s needs also needs to be taken into account. My relatives would taunt about the different stages in the “life of a girl” where she would need her mum. One telling example is for someone to be there in her teenage years so that she can know about menstruation. Why can’t such conversations occur between a father and a daughter?
To all the other single fathers out there, I want you to know that you are enough. I struggled with the negative thoughts and emotions but overtime I realised it is important to learn from mistakes, look back at the good and prioritise needs of your own and that of your child. I am not a perfect dad and will never claim to be one. I am human, I have flaws and I will not be afraid to make mistakes. My daughter is my biggest inspiration and I always remind her that our journey maybe different to others but together we will overcome all trials and celebrate our tribulations.”
Christina Clark
“
“Just as I thought I had everything under control 6 months deep into COVID reaching our shores.
I had hoped for the best but I could tell change was coming so I started to make plans concerning our financial future, just in case. Then it happened, myself and many colleagues were without a job. I didn’t really process it like someone would expect. I didn’t shout or cry. I wasn’t surprised but I was shocked with the manner it was carried out. I just thought to myself “I knew this was coming, I was planning for it, now onto the next dream.”
So my partner, daughter and I made a move down to my family farm to start a new life but I strayed from my happy family goal. The plan was to gain financial stability through starting a farm and rekindling my passion for baking. I started quite happily, but soon I also started to take on outside pressure from well meaning people, the more I think I about it, I realise that I was putting the pressure on my self by not establishing healthy boundaries. I burnt the candle at both ends and I ended up breaking.
My world came crashing down and I plunged into immense depression and anxiety. I was always the one in our family that would say “no worries”, keeping a positive attitude, always on the go, no problem was too big. I tried to keep a happy go lucky attitude but as I kept taking on more and more, my emotions started to bubble up until it boiled over and I lost control. My whole life I got used to pushing my needs and feelings aside. Trying to be super at everything. I strained myself mentally, emotionally and physically until my brain just shut down.
It felt like all the self-confidence and logic I had was wiped clean. Imagine your mind is like a computer that crashed and upon restart can’t make sense of the information being put into it. At this point I had to seek medical attention for my mental and emotional health and I quickly recovered thanks to my close knit support and the staff of the Stress Management Ward of Lautoka.
But it was just the beginning of the long road to recovery. It was a difficult period of self discovery. I questioned every decision in my life leading up to that period, from childhood, to adolescence, to adulthood, everything. It was like I didn’t even know who I was anymore, I didn’t want to be me, I just wanted to disappear. I felt like the ultimate failure.
One year on since then, I have come a long way, each day was a small tiny step. Months would go by at a snail’s pace without what seemed like much progress. What I found helpful was just making small moves and not worrying too much about progress, you’ll only scare yourself back deeper into anxiety thinking about where you are, where you think you should be, and comparing yourself to others. If I could tell myself something then, it would to be kind to myself, you are a good person, don’t ever question that.
Everyone’s journey is different. This period of my life was the result of years of unhealthy mental and emotional practices I didn’t even realise I had learnt, and with those practices I eventually led myself into a dark place. I have eventually pushed myself to find a deeper understanding of myself and areas I need to work on. I now have these continuous conversations with my sister and cousin.
Educating myself played a big part to finally making peace with myself. I also have to thank my family, partner and friends for their never ending support and understanding, as well as the Lautoka Stress Management Ward and Empower Pacific for doing their best in their capacity to steer me towards recovery.
Please be kind to yourself, there is only one you and it pays to be selfish and look after yourself. Not just physically but also through your goals, dreams, mental, spiritual and emotional health. If you can’t look after yourself, you won’t be able to look after those you love justly.”
•
We all have those days when something isn't quite right, you've got something on your mind, or things just seem too much. It can make a real difference reaching out to someone to talk to. Know there’s help at the other end of the line. Numbers to call:
Helplines:
Ministry of Health - Stress Management Ward – 6660 399 (Lautoka), 3313 444 (Suva), 8811 444 (Labasa)
Empower Pacific (Toll Free) – 5626
Lifeline Fiji (Toll Free) - 132454
Adi Mariana Waqa
“
“Almost five years on I reminisce to a period of nine months when I first returned home to Fiji.
Little did I know the time I gave myself to reacquaint with my Fijian identity was just the beginning of what would be an unravelling of some of my deepest fears. My idealistic thinking thought nine months was enough to reconnect with my roots and hop back over the pond where I could continue my pursuits in Australia.
However, I was in for a surprise when those nine months birthed a whole lot of pain and failings on my part. Gone were the aspirations I had firmly planned my life around and what I was left with were remnants of a dream that I no longer knew how to put back together.
I left Fiji having learned that sometimes things fall apart, plans fail, dreams implode and suddenly you find yourself picking up the pieces of your life amongst the ruins of yesterday. I also learned that one does not merely return home looking for herself and then run away when all goes kaput. Oh no, in my story, everything going kaput was the start of an unexpected journey.
Upon returning to Australia I felt something was amiss and that my time in Fiji was not yet over. It was ludicrous because I had everything there – my family, support networks, employment, and studies to complete – but the call to return home echoed and I followed … once again.
With little money, no job, and no idea what I was doing, I came back home.
My dream to contribute towards my country of birth would cost time and personal sacrifices as I navigated the new terrain before me. I had not considered that my decision to live in Fiji would unmask limitations, doubts, and insecurities which I had previously hidden well behind my iron will to succeed.
But the last five years have demonstrated that while the failures of those first nine months stripped me to my core, it was the very thing needed to reveal the strength and determination I never knew I had!
As a Fijian child of the diaspora there has been a longing to retrieve parts of myself considered lost or diluted in the process of migration and assimilation. Yet slowly I have come to the conclusion that it is okay to hold together my Australian migrant experiences and my indigenous Fijian identity. It may not sound or look the same as the people here, but still it brings with it the willingness to adapt, to learn, and to be shaped by the people and stories around me.
These five years have been an exercise of living the reality of my beautiful Fiji. Yes, I am still mesmerised by her beauty, but this time I am no longer blinded to her struggles. Maybe my time away made me think contributing back home meant sweeping in with some kind of neo-colonial “saviour” complex I picked up through my education or the perpetual overseas narrative of “poor third world paradise.”
Except that today those perspectives have changed and I’ve realised that in wanting to fulfil a need for my country, I was the one who was actually in need.
The Vanua, my country of Fiji, was here before me and will be here long after I am gone. She is resilient, powerful, mysterious, and full of stories with epic proportions.
And that’s both her beauty and her strength; a country of 333 islands, home to my indigenous identity and history, but also home to those whom she adopts and embraces openly.
I always thought that my country needed me to give back and help, but I returned home only to discover that I was the one who needed her all along.”