speaking for those that cant.

i have issue with the self-proclaimed gurus whose advise ‘should’ be adhered too.

actually i have issue with anything that starts with ‘you should’.

which is partly why i don’t do the ‘you should listen to my awesome life experience and learn vital shit from Me’, on this blog.

nope. no can do.

and then i realised the other day (as i was finding more of my screamy self-empowering voice) that while i don’t do the self help guru shit, i will on the rare occasion, speak for those that can not speak for themselves.

most of the time, ‘those’, are children.

sometimes it’s those that had no voice; like myself.

but it’s always hell’ah important that any assistance given is about helping ‘them’ find their own voice. there’s nothing cooler than watching the lights go on for someone and then hear them find their voice.

so, why am i talking about this shit?

today is the 2 year anniversary of my sisters death.

after the week or two i’ve had with father bullshit, i made sure today was kinda more about remembering her just on my terms. i did my shout out to her babies, just to let them know i love them and i’ve remembered them today. i haven’t spoken to the father or his wife. they can go fuck themselves.

so as i lit her candle this morning, i was reminded of the relationship i had with her. that it had started not far from where i live now and that meeting her when i was 7, was way cooler than i thought it would be. having a sister you never knew you had is extremely cool.

as my ‘holiday’ with the father, step mother and new found sister evolved, all 7 years of Me, knew there was a whole lot wrong with the picture i was becoming privy too.

this morning, what i vividly remembered, was her and i standing in the parental douche-bags kitchen; me, washing the dishes and her attempting to dry them. she would’ve been about 5. my drunk father was sitting at the table, inhaling a meal the step mother had prepared hours earlier for him. as he looked up from his trough, he started mumbling something about my sister ‘doing a better job’ of drying the dishes. i watched her arms tighten. although i didn’t really understand what was happening, i understood fear. i understood it intimately. and here she was, her arms, then her hands, then her torso, slowly and gradually started to tighten and freeze.

i remember looking at the drunken bum sloshing his food about his mouth and wondering if he was serious. ‘a better job’ was not a phrase he really understood, that was for sure.

as he parroted his twoddle and got louder and louder, my sister started to cry and he went from annoying pickiness to anger. scary anger.

and that i understood too.

i tried to step in front of her and move her away; to the side of me; but she was frozen. i didn’t understand that then, but i get it now.

i told him to stop it. in a quiet voice. but a voice non-the-less. my sister shot me a quick ‘shut up’ glance, and so i didn’t say anything else. he wasn’t going to stop though, i could see that. so i started to cry.

that set the step mother on edge who started badgering him to stop. he got angrier and threw his plate at the wall and stormed off to the lounge.

no-one said anything else. and i’m sure he did a quick wife-battering and the went to sleep.

and my sister; she relaxed again.

what really struck me about all of this this morning, was that because my sister was the only one of us that lived with those 2 fuckwits consistently, she had spent a lifetime co-ordinating, navigating and placating them.

the cost?


her existence. her life.

i despise them for that.

i admire her.

i shed tears for those moments when there was no-one there to speak for her; to stand in the gap for her; to protect her and to ask her if she needed anything. wanted anything.

i’m glad i got to do that for her, at least once in her lifetime.

kpm ©



a little update

It’s been a crusty week / weekend. Me and the partner have some kind of fluy crappy virus thing … his of course is way worse because it’s part of the ‘man – flu’ syndrome. Yes peeps, the struggle is real ;)

Aside from this, I’m plodding, trying to remain on course, positive and all that bullshit.

I’m acutely aware that the anniversary of my sisters death is coming up in a few weeks.

The ‘family’ is silent.

Her babies are grappling with their pain.

I don’t like it. At all.

Looming anxiety mixed with ‘virus symptoms’ are making for a slightly uncomfortable existence at the moment – thank fuck for anti-anxiety meds!

My partners father is unwell … heart related, unwell. I know the worry is straining him. We find out this week what the haps is next.

On a completely different note:

I have approximately 5 weeks before our womens collective Art Exhibition goes up … and I’m … ummm … not ready.

Art, or painting … for Me, is a ‘in-the-moment’, ‘go-with-the-feeling’ kind of thing. Which is why I’ve had difficulty creating pieces to order or to sell. My Art is about venting or expressing, not about making people happy with pretty pictures. So when it comes to knocking something up for an Exhibition … yeah well … need I say more. Eeeek.

And on a similar note … but Not lol: I did 3 pieces for an Exhibition that goes up today. I’ll post more on that one later in the week. I feel a little apprehensive, strangely enough. I didn’t last time. But these pieces are hugely raw. Yes, on any given day, raw is my go-to; but these are even rawer than that lol.

Anyway …

Back to the grind. There’s a mound of washing and no other cunt to do it ;)




my sister, & a smile.

in my world … today … is the stark realisation that my sister is dead. has died. died. the night of the 18th october. that she leaves behind her girls, her moko.

theres no reason to smile. or so i thought.

the reason to smile … came from a strange place indeed.

you see, she is my sister … my blood. my fathers daughter. younger than me.

i have spent time with her not more than half a dozen times in our life time. i met her when i was 7. had a few holidays with her and her family … my fathers family.

their lives were not anything i had experienced that intensely, up until that time. my father .. to my disappointment and disbelief .. was a violent rogue drunk .. who intimidated, belittled and controlled his little family.

and my sister.

my sister tried to manage their temperature; their moods; lessen the violence; pacify the situations before they escalated. she, even at 5, was compliant, docile .. she tried to please and pacify and console her mother.

she was equipped to deal with the nastiness and bitterness that would ooze from my fathers drunken pores.

i wasn’t.

the violence i had encountered previous to this man; my father … was violence borne out of pain, from a man i knew the heart of; whom i loved. and while he frightened me sometimes; i knew he loved me. a passionate man. but not viewed as such by his wife at the time.

my ‘good’ uncles violence was different from the bitterness turned nastiness that my drunken father poured out on his family. my sister. his was alcohol fuelled deep seated rage.

and i didn’t know or understand his pain…

my sister endured him.


she endured her mothers weakness.


and when she could, she left.

still compliant and ever willing to please.

and when i met her again – saw her again, 20 odd years later, she had babies .. .2 beautiful babies. and she was softly spoken. pleasant. … on the surface.

i talked to her on the phone a few times. and then nothing. from either of us.

we could not be close. not like little girls, way back then. hiding from, running from … pretending to be something different.

my father liked to disappear, and he disappeared with my sister and her mother a couple of years after we met. no forwarding address. no reasons. just gone.

we didn’t grow up together. we could never be close.

and when we could .. as adults .. we couldn’t.

i didn’t realise until yesterday though .. . that she had her own inner turmoil … that was finding its way out … finally … she was moving out of compliance and docility. that our sisterhood was never meant to be more than it was … in passing. there wasn’t enough of her to go around. there wasn’t enough of me to go around.

but what mothers we have made!

her daughters are compassionate, loving, strong willed, strong minded, dripping in humanity. and she, my sister, facilitated that for her girls .. just as i did for mine. for her, it cost her her life in the end; as her heart gave way. for me, it cost me my existence … as my life gave way.

and now we can wave to each other from different shore lines. nodding at each others strengths. acknowledging who we are.

instead of wishing we were something more, something different …

and as i cried yesterday, wondering why; knowing it was sad – logically -but not understanding that there was a connection with her even though there wasn’t a connection with her … as i cried, wondering what these awful feelings, emotions, were about .. but knowing not to calculate to hard .. i realised …

i could feel.

in a situation like this, i could feel. and it sucked. but i was ok. i knew it would pass. that i would forever be different; changed .. but it’d be ok.

that i am made out of some amazingly resilient shit. but that i could also have emotion, feeling … and would survive.

as i was wavering in the morning; tears coming for no apparent reason i thought … my mama came … my daughter and son-in-law and mokos came … my partner patted my hand; placed his head on my forehead … no words … and my other daughter and moko came … my brother rang to talk …

and they sat with me … not speaking .. . but just being themselves …

they let me be me.

all day, and all night.

they cooked and made cups of tea … still yelling at the kids and swearing at each other …

they didn’t walk on egg shells … fake sincerity …

they were themselves, and let me be me.

they still laughed and shed their own tears as we learned that my sister; their aunty, wouldnt be coming back to this country to be laid to rest – that she would stay where her babies are. we cried because while the others wouldn’t say it … they disapproved … but this is where we knew she should be.

they listened to me talk, shed a tear with me but not for me … hearing my hurt … that no-one had remembered i was her sister, and she, my only sister. no-one. not one.

they didn’t agree with my hurt; pacify my hurt; console my hurt. they just let me be me.

and when the day has been done … been gone .. .i am still here …

and i am eternally grateful for my little family … borne of grit … who know me and love me.

and i am eternally grateful that i have known a sister; have a sister; that she has peace; that she passed her love and determination for something better, on to her babies.

and i wave to my beloved sister from my shoreline … to her on her shoreline. i tilt my head to her in acknowledgment of all that she endured silently … all that she accomplished silently.

i wave to my beloved sister.

know i love you .. in my own way .. in my own time ..

blood of my blood … flesh of my flesh … bone of my bone

good bye for now

kpm ©