The Fusion

The UK shaped me.
And I love that part of me.

I spent 18 years living in a country that colonised my people.
And yet — those people are also my people.
I whakapapa to both.

That duality can be confusing.
To return to Aotearoa and see the pain, the disconnection, the ongoing struggle, and know that part of my healing came from the very place that caused so much harm.

But here’s the truth: I’m a fusion of both worlds.
I carry both lineages in me.
Both histories.
Both capacities — to harm, and to heal.

Living in the UK gave me access to another side of myself.
To a version I hadn’t met yet.
The part that stretched, adapted, stood on her own.
The part that could say with pride, “I made it here.”

And at the same time, there are parts of me that only come alive in Aotearoa.
The depth of mana.
The clarity of identity.
The strength that sometimes gets mistaken for aggression, but is actually the weight of ancestral presence.

I can hold both.
I can love both.
I can see the harm and still honour what has shaped me.

Because I’m not just one or the other.
I’m both.

And that fusion? That tension? That reclamation?

It’s beautiful.
It’s mine.

And maybe… this isn’t just about me.

Maybe you’re holding two things, too.
Two identities.
Two places that feel like home.
Two versions of yourself — one rising, one afraid.

Maybe you're navigating a duality that doesn't always make sense on paper,
but feels real in your bones.

This is your reminder:
You don’t have to choose just one.
You can be both.
You can honour all that shaped you, without shrinking any part of who you’ve become.

The discomfort doesn’t mean you’re broken.
It means you're living in the complexity of being human.
Of being layered.
Of being alive.

Whatever you're holding , you’re allowed to hold it with tenderness.
And still move forward.