an email
i am learning to bare my heart, with all my love.
12th September 2022
2:27am
I’ve decided to write to you1 because I’ve realised over the years that I’m relatively better at communicating my thoughts when they’re written down rather than when they’re spoken aloud. Perhaps it’s the effort and intention of writing that conveys more than I can say if I were just talking to you. I am learning to bare my heart. I may not always be brave.
Our phone call today was an interesting one, and I use the word ‘interesting’ rather broadly, here. On a personal level, as someone who knows you and loves you, it upsets me to hear your tone of voice and process what it is that you were saying. I’ve not been very good at separating myself and my emotions from other’s, especially those I love. I learnt that the academic word for this is “subjective assertion.” I know this because once, sitting in my high school English class, I burst into tears over a poem2 about 2 girls, playing together on a summer’s day, oblivious to the fact that they are on the cusp of womanhood. I felt such grief over their carefreeness. And I, quite ridiculously and so desperately, wanted them to stay young forever. My English teacher told me then that I need to “subjectively assert” myself less and objectively analyse more.
All this is to say that…while I have never known first-hand what it must be like to go through what you’re going through, I believe I do feel a fraction of your frustration and, possibly, disappointment. I hope that in knowing this about me, you’ll also know that there will always be someone that sees this hurdle that’s been placed before you as their hurdle too. You are not alone in your pain, your frustration, or your faith. And, as long as I am alive, you never will be.
Our phone call was also interesting because in speaking of your frustration and your pain, you also reminded me of something I haven’t known whether I want to share with you. Until now. Every morning, recently, I’ve made it a point to take some time to reflect, firstly on how I feel (cause I do wake up some mornings feeling just a little weird) and secondly, to say a silent little prayer to the universe for you, and a few other people I love. While I am conscious of what I say and what I ask for, I try to let the words form themselves. Recently, I’ve found that my prayer for you, that I can only assume is born from sheer instinct and knowing, has been one resounding and consistent plea; “let him know that he is worthy of his healing”
Now more than ever and in light of everything you told me on our call today, I hope you do know that you are worthy. That healing, while it is not something anyone needs to ‘earn,’ is something you especially deserve. I believe that you know this already. I think you are more than aware that you have weathered and continue to weather some pretty turbulent storms, and you know as well as I, that you are worthy of overcoming them. I also believe that you’ve been confronted with the ultimate test, and that is the test of the one thing within you that has (so far) never wavered. The one thing that can never be taken away from you. And that is your fate. I may not believe in the same God as you. But I believe in you.
There is a phrase in te reo Māori I learnt recently which I think is so beautiful it makes me grieve the fact that despite my best efforts to understand and honour this language, I will never truly experience it as anything but an outsider. The phrase is ‘aroha mai.’ If we break it apart, ‘aroha’ means love, but it’s more literal definition refers to presence (aro) and breath (ha). To breathe, to just be present - is to love. That there is love in breathing. And really, how can there not be? When something that comes to you so naturally can ground you and sustain you all at once.
Aroha mai, colloquially, is to say I love you.
But it actually is also a form of apology in. For example, I could accidentally bump into someone and while the standard English response would be to say “oh sorry!” Or “I’m sorry,” in the Māori language, they might say Aroha mai. Now you must be wondering what love has to do with apology or how these 2 things even correlate in a context as ordinary as bumping into someone or knocking something over - and this is the best part!
‘Mai’ means ‘to me.’ Or ‘back to me.’ So aroha mai then, means ‘love back to me’ and it is a form of apology that chooses acknowledgement and forgiveness over regret. When I mess up, I say aroha mai and acknowledge my situation but recognise it for what it is; an opportunity to grow, to learn and most importantly - to move on.
Aroha mai. To breathe. To be present. Is to love. Yourself, as much as you do others. And to call love to yourself in times of havoc, is to be present. To breathe. To forgive. To recognise where you stand in relation to the storm. And to realise that the start and finish of the journey of your healing begins with you. Aroha mai for when your worthiness on this journey slips your mind.
I miss you. So much. I know I tend to ramble and maybe this was a huge ramble (in email format). But I felt the tug to tell you this.
I hope you remember that you are not alone. I hope you realise your power. To alter your reality. The power within you to just breathe. To be present. To love.
Aroha mai for when you forget. Aroha for always.
Dru.
a photo of a double rainbow i had taken on september the 12th, 2022 (the same day this email was sent). we had just driven through a storm around the narrow, winding roads of tauranga
this email was written for one set of eyes, 2 years ago. I have since edited out the names/personal information of the person I was writing to for their privacy. It is now July of 2024 and they are completely healed <3
An Easy Passage by Julia Copus – resonated with 17 year old me for more reasons than one :)