I don’t have words for how proud I am of her for writing her first book [the novel, Dirt Poor Islanders]. I read it in a day. If my mum was still alive [she died 11 years ago], she’d have had a massive celebration and invited all the family. She was very proud of Winnie.
What I love most about Winnie is who she is. She has found the beauty in her Tongan-ness by herself: she is my legacy.
Winnie jnr: I call Winnie “Lahi”, meaning “senior”. After Mum died, we’d go stay with Nana and Winnie on weekends. She was always fun to be around; she took us to McDonald’s, let us stay up and watch movies. All she wanted was to hang out with us.
At my private girls’ high school, I was one of only two girls who weren’t white and, for the first time, people asked me about my ethnicity. I was laughed at for being Tongan and felt embarrassed, so I rejected everything Tongan – the food, the language, the culture. This upset Lahi. She said that by rejecting our culture, I was rejecting her and myself as well.
As a teen, I developed an eating disorder. I was rejecting this stereotype that Pacific Islanders are big people who eat a lot. It really started in 2013, the year after I did my HSC. I was taking a gap year, working with Lahi. As I got thinner, she became increasingly concerned and kept saying, “You have to eat!” which wasn’t helpful. One day, I was sitting at the lunch table and I took out this soup, which was just blended vegies. Lahi commented on it and got quite worked up, so I got up and threw the container in the bin and walked away. She’d always let me do what I wanted and I didn’t like her telling me what to do.
‘I rejected everything Tongan … This upset Lahi. She said that by rejecting our culture, I was rejecting her and myself as well.’
Winnie jnr
Lahi has this innate intelligence which she’s gifted to me. She taught me to be a strong, independent woman and always bought me books and encouraged me in my studies. I was the first in my family to go to uni. She drove me there on my first day. “Go get our degree,” she said as she dropped me off.
In 2016, I asked her to take me to Tonga for my 21st. By then, I’d started at Sweatshop [a literacy movement based in western Sydney] and was learning about narratives of self-empowerment. She showed me the natural landmarks and told me the ancient stories. For the first time, I took a real interest in being Tongan and I was at peace with myself.
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The biggest fight we’ve ever had was in 2013 when she told me she was in love with Nicole. She’d been spending so much time with her, and I felt abandoned and hurt. Instead of just telling her that, I said, “It’s wrong to be gay”. My aunts were Christian and homophobic and I picked up their rhetoric. I didn’t even mean it; I just wanted to hurt her. I remember her crying and saying, “I just want you to accept me.”
Then, in 2017, I came out to her. I said, “I think I’m bisexual” and she replied, “Yeah, I’ve known that for a long time.” When she and Nicole married, it was one of the greatest moments of my life to walk the woman I’m named after, my mum, down the aisle to the love of her life.
I dedicated Dirt Poor Islanders to her because she has given me such a rich life and helped me on my own journey of self-love. She makes me feel so secure. I know that if I’m ever in trouble, she’ll be there.
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