“Temeparā”—Too Long, Too Māori

Temepara Reihana (she/her)—Ngāpuhi nui tonu, Ngāti Kahu, Ngāti Kahungunu ki Wairoa

“Tem”—short enough, easy enough.

And just like that, in a second, my beautiful name was silenced for 16 years—all to please the white man’s ears.

But I never wanted it to be this way,

But my mama said, “It's easier for them this way.”

And I understood, because her mama had taught it to her that too.

To make yourself smaller and soften your reo,

was second nature for three generations.

Every teacher, every friend, every Starbucks—that’s how they knew me.

Every interview, every CV, every email—“Tem” was the name they’d see.

My name erased for success, for ease—to keep the white man’s peace.

Then I turned 16 and I realised who I wanted to be—fiercely and bravely me.

In came the breaking of the new dawn, the breaking of the new me.

“Tem” became “Temeparā.”

Teachers struggled and friendships were lost.

People groaned; knives were thrown and insults hurled.

Their complaints, though? Not my burden.

I made them learn, and I made them say it.

But it didn't just stop there.

Every kapa haka rōpū,

every uni association,

every Māori space—

they were going to know my name.

I wanted it to be this way—my culture was going to be reclaimed.

I picked up the poi and never put them down.

With each spin, I felt more like myself.

I picked up the patu and gripped it tight.

With each step, I felt more alive.

I picked up the reo and I never stopped.

With each word, my mana came back to life.

I liked it this way—my culture was mine.

Three generations taught us to shrink,

but that was going to end with me—my baby cousins were mine to teach.

Mine to teach to say their names with pride,

and to speak their reo with a smile.

Mine to teach to swing the poi,

and flick the patu.

Mine to teach to be proud to be Māori.

In came the breaking of the new dawn; the raising of the next generation.