Home from the sea

My Return back Home
After three hours of snuggling in my seat, I peered out the window and swiftly sucked in my breath before the majestic view that dumbfounded me. It almost felt as if I was finally reuniting with something or someone that I seemed to forget about. This thought rushed about in my mind as our plane circled above the emerald palm trees, surrounded by the sapphire-like ocean that coaxed into an array of other shades of majestic blue. “Treasure Island” I finally exhaled out.
The urge to laugh and yelp was imminent as I could not help but notice the stark contrasts between the things in Samoa with my New Zealand. The people whom shared the same culture as me beamed at me with huge grins and would try converse with me without a care in the world that their English was broken. They must have felt the same urge as I stammered and tried my best to try converse with them in broken Samoan.
Prior to boarding the plane, my grandmother gave me her sermon of the do’s and the not to do’s while staying in Samoa:
“Do the chores! Help your aunty out! Don’t leave your hair out at night! Ghosts will come and slap your mouth! Don’t wear short dress, the boys will go all funny and try kiss you! Do the cooking, help your cousins out in the kitchen! Do you understand?!”
Arrival at my family’s village, I let out a roar of laughter at all the “Western style” homes that were painted in bright bold colours of the family’s choice, bright green house, bright yellow house, bright pink house. Everywhere bright bright! I then became mystified that most of these homes had graves either in the front or on the side. To further compliment these “Western style” houses were the traditional “fales” that stood beside them. The fales were an open space, oval in shape and posts all around. Some were painted in order to match the houses, some were not.
The men within these traditional fales bore tattoos that covered most their legs and lower torso’s. They reminded me of wet suits but I could just make out intricate patterns and motifs that were marked on their bodies. I had so much to learn.
Eventually I grew to love my motherland and was taken aback at my selfishness for wanting to do things which I had seen on glossy magazines and flash travel shows. I realized then that the person or thing in which I always forgot about was my love for my culture. The people, the village, the land and seas, it had always been a part of me, and I had always been a part of them.