Kia ora whānau,
I did have most of this newsletter written out prior to the events of Friday but I couldn’t put it out as is. A lot of it might seem rather trivial right now. I guess it’s a good a contrast as any to show how blind sighted we were by this act of extreme hatred. Though really this hatred has been building in our country for a while, and next time I’ll share the wonderful pieces I’ve read by people far more intelligent than I.
I feel this sadness deep in my gut and I don’t see it going away any time soon. Every time I find a moment of happiness I’m reminded of the now 51 who lost their lives on Friday and I feel guilty for feeling joy and even annoyed at other people for moving on. Yesterday my checkout operator wore a giant inflatable Guinness hat to celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day but I don’t feel like celebrating much of anything, especially after the uplifting progress of the school strikes against climate change is all but forgotten. Moving on seems impossible, but that’s what we have to do, that and end white supremacy for good.
On Monday I attended a preview screening of Destroyer at The Roxy in Miramar, thanks to the New Zealand International Film Festival. Unfortunately, we haven’t got the milk bottling thing down yet so Michelle stayed at home and looked after our bubba (two-months-old today). Going to the movies is a real mission now sadly. I still haven’t seen Captain Marvel but Michelle is going to brave the babies’ screening. You can find my review of Destroyer below, which is out now in theatres.
Short Story
The Landlord
You would think my story isn’t too uncommon; landlords are notorious in this country for putting in the least time and effort. But something happened in our last tenancy that shook me to my core. My husband and our three-year-old girl found a nice little flat in Karori. It’s hard to find a place in Wellington these days, especially at a price we could afford.
The landlord seemed nice enough at first, a retired gentleman born in the UK. He visited occasionally to see how we were settling in, always bringing a plate of chocolate brownies along with him. We got the feeling he was lonely. We soon learned his wife has passed away less than a year before we made our home in Karori.
A few months passed and he stopped bringing over the brownies and soon he stopped coming altogether. Instead, we would receive impassioned voicemails, only ever voicemails, describing things we had done to his property. But we never saw him in person, we could only think he let himself in during the day when we weren’t there.
It was always little things, like we had our tea towels too close to the stove, or a small stain on the carpet we had missed. It was like being a young teenager again living at home with my parents, always tripping over their impossible standards.
Then things started to go missing. First, it was our wooden chess set. He even snatched our decorative vase full of fake flowers. He called these confiscations and would hold onto them like a haughty teacher until we vacuumed the floors or bleached the shower curtain. When we completed these tasks, as per the voicemail requests, we would find our things back exactly where we had left them.
We did think about contacting the tenancy tribunal or even the police. We really did. But we also knew how it could tarnish our reputation. We might never find a place to rent again.
Then one day the voicemails stopped. Finally some respite, we thought. Then my three-year-old walked in on him in nothing but blue briefs, unconscious on our couch. A bottle of bourbon lay open on the floor pooling onto the carpet. We moved out of there that day while he sprawled on the couch, still breathing might I add. Thankfully a lovely church family took us in and there we remain. That is, until we decide to boldly go renting again.
Review
Linkies
- The Michael Jackson documentary, Leaving Neverland, came out in New Zealand last week. It’s a devastating 4-hour-long testimony from two of Jackson’s victims of child sexual assault. That’s enough on its own and I’m sure you’ll know whether you want to watch it or not. But then there’s this whole other discussion; can we cancel art when it’s all around us? Especially art that’s been so much a part of our culture for the last few decades and changed the music industry forever? Wesley Morris from The New York Times reckons with this and how maybe we need to live with the fact people can contain multitudes. They can commit acts of good and acts of terrible, not that it excuses anything. Then there’s the whole, do you want to financially support this person who did this terrible thing, which is different again to other cases as Jackson is dead. But again, it’s up to you as a person, how you move forward after these, admittedly not new, revelations. I know I’m still finding my way.
- The podcast On the Rag, now has a webseries. After the short-lived, The Spinoff TV, it’s so nice to see these “ladies” (Michele A’Court voice) back on our screens. As with the podcast, the show is brimming with honesty about what it’s like to be a woman in New Zealand.
- Aotearoa is still reeling from Friday, especially our Muslim community who was targeted in this attack. If you can, please support the victims and check out these pages and if anything else, say no to racism.
If you enjoyed this newsletter, please whisper it to the person next to you.
*reassuring embrace*
Michael
