I turned away in embarrassment as I caught myself
staring as he took the rubbish from my hands. His eyes met mine and for a split
second I felt a rush of excitement flow through my body. This was the first
time I had ever seen him, yet there was something about him that made me feel
like he was going to be more to me than just our rubbish man...
2 years ago my family and I left the sun and beach in the Islands for the cooler weather in Aotearoa. Adapting to the wild winds of Wellington was hard but I eventually got used to it. Everyday my routine consisted of waking up to a life that was planned. I frowned looking at the list of chores my father had hand written and placed on the table. Sadness quickly sprung to my mind as I thought of my lifestyle before being a maid to my own family. Nothing was exciting anymore, life itself felt drained. While gazing into outer space thinking of the past, I heard the rubbish truck pull into our street. I jumped in nervousness as I remembered my father’s words “remember the rubbish Mary this house needs to be spotless. You hear me?” he yelled slamming the door behind him.
The life I had pictured in New Zealand was not what I had expected it to be; instead it was the total opposite. I was told by many it was the land of opportunity, yet all I ever swept across was loneliness. The friends I once had soon become a distant memory, education was now something I longed for, church was no longer part of our lives and our neighbours couldn’t bear to look at us based on our appearance. Life was different but I had to smile and carry on, everything I did was to benefit my family in the long run. Being the eldest daughter, my education was what I had to sacrifice to help my younger siblings get the childhood they deserved. Many may had questioned my decision to not argue my rights to an education but I am a woman who had priorities and they were to my family.
My mother however had her priorities listed in different directions. 3 months after moving over, she left my family to create a new one with someone else. Since then, she has managed to stay in contact but as an absent parent. Nothing more and nothing less. Her love for the bottle and her boyfriend was more than her love for her 6 kids. The day my mother left, a part of my father left also. Mood swings became constant and he was no longer the loving man he was in the islands. My heart fell heavy as all I longed for was the past. Praying every night became routine as I wished everything would go back to the way they use to be. Although things in my life had changed drastically, my faith in the heavenly father remained strong. I admired my father especially for the way he still chose to work and serve his people, despite having problems at home. My father and eldest brother thankfully were respected lawyers throughout the Polynesian community. On the days they would work from home, I would stand by the door lost in awe of the love my father had for his son. The long hours they would work on cases to help our people, made me feel that much more proud to be my father’s daughter.
Snapping back into reality I realised I was standing outside struggling to hold on to my rubbish bags. I let out a loud gasp as I thought “how did I even get here?” I turned away in embarrassment as I caught myself staring as the new rubbish boy took the rubbish from my strained hands. His eyes met mine and for a split second I felt a rush of excitement flow through my body. This was the first time I had ever seen him, yet there was something about him that made me feel like he was going to be more to me than just our rubbish man. Walking back to the house I couldn’t contain my excitement. How could someone I didn’t even speak to make me feel butterflies? I thought out loud. I continued working on my list but the green eyes that looked into mine captured my heart.
From that week onwards Monday’s became the only weekday I looked forward too. I never thought the day would come when I would find joy in taking out the rubbish. Just getting a glimpse of him made me so happy. He was the only person who would take the time to even smile back at me. And in return I would smile and offer a drink just to hear a response, oh how the sound of his deep and masculine voice made my heart flutter. Every week he would politely deny my offer for a drink but it didn’t stop me from trying. He was going to be mine one way or another, even if it meant embarrassing myself by wearing the only white dress I owned every Monday. ‘I am going to capture your attention and find out your name even if it takes the rest of the year’ I promised myself.
2 years ago my family and I left the sun and beach in the Islands for the cooler weather in Aotearoa. Adapting to the wild winds of Wellington was hard but I eventually got used to it. Everyday my routine consisted of waking up to a life that was planned. I frowned looking at the list of chores my father had hand written and placed on the table. Sadness quickly sprung to my mind as I thought of my lifestyle before being a maid to my own family. Nothing was exciting anymore, life itself felt drained. While gazing into outer space thinking of the past, I heard the rubbish truck pull into our street. I jumped in nervousness as I remembered my father’s words “remember the rubbish Mary this house needs to be spotless. You hear me?” he yelled slamming the door behind him.
The life I had pictured in New Zealand was not what I had expected it to be; instead it was the total opposite. I was told by many it was the land of opportunity, yet all I ever swept across was loneliness. The friends I once had soon become a distant memory, education was now something I longed for, church was no longer part of our lives and our neighbours couldn’t bear to look at us based on our appearance. Life was different but I had to smile and carry on, everything I did was to benefit my family in the long run. Being the eldest daughter, my education was what I had to sacrifice to help my younger siblings get the childhood they deserved. Many may had questioned my decision to not argue my rights to an education but I am a woman who had priorities and they were to my family.
My mother however had her priorities listed in different directions. 3 months after moving over, she left my family to create a new one with someone else. Since then, she has managed to stay in contact but as an absent parent. Nothing more and nothing less. Her love for the bottle and her boyfriend was more than her love for her 6 kids. The day my mother left, a part of my father left also. Mood swings became constant and he was no longer the loving man he was in the islands. My heart fell heavy as all I longed for was the past. Praying every night became routine as I wished everything would go back to the way they use to be. Although things in my life had changed drastically, my faith in the heavenly father remained strong. I admired my father especially for the way he still chose to work and serve his people, despite having problems at home. My father and eldest brother thankfully were respected lawyers throughout the Polynesian community. On the days they would work from home, I would stand by the door lost in awe of the love my father had for his son. The long hours they would work on cases to help our people, made me feel that much more proud to be my father’s daughter.
Snapping back into reality I realised I was standing outside struggling to hold on to my rubbish bags. I let out a loud gasp as I thought “how did I even get here?” I turned away in embarrassment as I caught myself staring as the new rubbish boy took the rubbish from my strained hands. His eyes met mine and for a split second I felt a rush of excitement flow through my body. This was the first time I had ever seen him, yet there was something about him that made me feel like he was going to be more to me than just our rubbish man. Walking back to the house I couldn’t contain my excitement. How could someone I didn’t even speak to make me feel butterflies? I thought out loud. I continued working on my list but the green eyes that looked into mine captured my heart.
From that week onwards Monday’s became the only weekday I looked forward too. I never thought the day would come when I would find joy in taking out the rubbish. Just getting a glimpse of him made me so happy. He was the only person who would take the time to even smile back at me. And in return I would smile and offer a drink just to hear a response, oh how the sound of his deep and masculine voice made my heart flutter. Every week he would politely deny my offer for a drink but it didn’t stop me from trying. He was going to be mine one way or another, even if it meant embarrassing myself by wearing the only white dress I owned every Monday. ‘I am going to capture your attention and find out your name even if it takes the rest of the year’ I promised myself.
One day after waving the rubbish truck goodbye, I
noticed my father looking from the driveway. I looked at him in shock as I knew
leaving the house wasn’t allowed. “Hey dad, what are you doing home? It’s only
11 in the morning.” I said shyly. Without a response he yanked me by my hair
into the house. Tears followed just as fast as I began begging for forgiveness.
I didn’t understand his anger but I allowed him to beat me with the belt. Each whip
that sat on my thigh fuelled my anger for revenge on my mother. If she was here
I wouldn’t be the one to carry the burden she left behind. Crying out asking my
father to ‘stop hitting me’ only made him angrier. The belt dropped to the
floor and he picked my weightless body and slammed it against the front door.
The sound of his breathing echoed in my ear as he bent down to strangle the
life out of me. Winded from the impact I lied there not even trying to fight back
except feel the warmth of my tears run down my face. With eyes wide open my life
flashed before me, showing a fainted light that I had heard people speak of
many times before. I silently thought “If I was to die by the hand of my father
I wouldn’t be scared.” Death was near and I could feel it and with that I
closed my eyes to the darkness...
I regained conscious to find myself in a room that was unfamiliar; I smelt the scent of fresh flowers sitting on the bedside table. “Where am I and what day is it?” I whispered weakly. As I tried to move the side of my thigh began to ache. I lied back down in agony thinking of what happened. The door swung open and I looked up to see my younger siblings run in smiling. “Mary, are you awake? How are you?” they asked excitedly. 21 questions shot out of their mouths faster than what I was able to process. I stared at them watching their movements and not listening to a word they were saying. The room suddenly went quite and their eyes turned to look at me. That’s when I realised I had tears of joy running down my face. I was happy to see them and was thankful to be alive. While trying to wipe the tears away I heard a voice ask “are you okay sister? Daddy said you were hurt trying to clean the house.” I began to snuffle but replied with “sister is okay and daddy is right, I was being clumsy that’s all.” And with that reply every question asked was answered and that incident was never to be spoken about again. Later on that day my father walked in and apologised for what had happened. On the outside I spoke the words “I forgive you” but on the inside I vowed for as long as I live I would protect my siblings from the physical abuse anyway I could.
Three days after being bedridden the bruises healed and the physical pain disappeared. I walked out of the guest room to see everything was as spic and span before the beating. On the table was a note from my brother who wrote ‘put your feet up sis, I’ve cleaned the house for you. I will see you after work.’ A smile beamed off my face as I was grateful for what he just did for me. As I was about to walk back to the room and lie down I heard a sound familiar to something I’ve heard before. I ran into the kitchen and saw the rubbish bags lined up. It was Monday and I had no time to get ready except run out with the bags weighing me down. I heard a laugh echo from somewhere in the street, I bowed my head in shame as I knew they were laughing at me. I sprinted back inside hoping that the boy I had a crush on was sick and absent that day. I slammed the door shut without turning around once. Then at the memory of my green eyed rubbish man, I soon realised he was the reason I was confined to bed for a whole week. I had to get him off my mind to avoid being hurt for something so innocent. I came to the conclusion that maybe walking out looking pale with panda eyes was what it took for him to stop the little communication we had going all together.
Wednesday came along and things in our house were slowly going back to normal. It was the first time my father had ever beaten me to the point of losing conscious and I still wasn’t sure as to why he did it. That night my siblings and I attended a late night church service. Again, I put on the only dress I had owned as my father never had the time for trips to the mall. On our way back we spoke of the sermon given which was about forgiveness. Even though it was hard but I chose to forgive my father whole heartedly and leave everything in the past. My love and respect for him was more than the hate, so who was I to hold on to that hate and let it have a part of me? We sang songs of joy and worship and made our way home safely. Upon arrival I felt something was different. The lights were all off and the front door was left wide open. I told the kids to keep quiet and stay together outside on the driveway. Walking through the door to our home and turning on the light was like opening the door to hell in all its glory. My father was being intimate with someone and I couldn’t bear to look at them together. My head started spinning as I tried to take deep breaths and deal with what I had just witnessed. I screamed “Noooooo get off my brother” striking my father with whatever was closest to me. He let out a yell and demolished everything in his way including striking me 3 times in the head also. At least that’s how many I counted before blacking out again…
The next few weeks were the most difficult weeks of my life. Pretending to be the happy family we were to those who would only view us from the outside. Society had our family on a pedestal, if only they knew the secret I knew. My brother was getting abused by my own father and there was nothing we could do about it. The air at times felt more and more overpowering becoming heavy like a burdening weight. I tried to forget but the image was so strong it gave me nightmares. I shivered at the nauseating memory.
It had been weeks since I had last seen my green eyed boy but with everything that happened at home it just wasn't the right time to flirt with strangers. Walking down the long hallway I spotted a figure walking past in to the kitchen. I froze as I'm the only one who is usually home during the day. “Hello?” I yelled out and in response my brother pops his head in the hallway and smiles. I roll my eyes and with that he snaps and yells with rage “what the fuck is your problem?” shocked I stood still motionless not saying anything. “Who do you think you are rolling your eyes at me? Judging me! You don’t know what it feels like to be touched by your own father. Do you think I like that shit?” He screamed with hurt and anger. Fear quickly started to take over and all I could do was stare back. The next thing I know is I’m being dragged into the lounge and pinned against the window with his hands are around my throat. I see the rubbish truck pull up and long for someone to see and help me. I look outside and I see him, my green eyed boy looking at me. Help! I cried hoping he’d run in and rescue me but instead he moves on to the next house. Tears shot down from my big brown eyes and rested upon my cheeks. His hands then ran up my thigh as I was trying to fight him off. Who was this person? And who was he to rob me of my innocence and a chance of experiencing real love? As my head spun back into reality I noticed my brother staring at me doing the unimaginable with his eyes. I felt disgusted wishing it was all a bad dream, but it wasn’t it was the beginning of my nightmare. My worn out body was fuming as he forced his body on to me holding me to the wall. His lips caressed my neck and the other hand covered my mouth so that my empty screams could not be heard. I then feel his manhood enter me and the same time half of me died with it. Why me? What did I ever do to you? All I ever tried to be was a good sister and this is how I get repaid? I faintly cried out as my brother left me on the floor lifeless. I crawled my way into the bathroom and tried to scrub away the sin that was inserted into my body minutes earlier.
Months passed and the abuse continued and got more frequent. My brother was taking his anger out on me the way my father took his anger out on him. No longer was I a firm believer in Christ. How could I be when everything I was going through God allowed to happen. And on a Sunday evening I felt an indescribable pain every 5 minutes. I was having contractions and I didn't even know it. Alone in my bedroom I silently gave birth naturally to a baby girl. She was perfect but my family wasn't. No one knew of her existence and I wasn't going to announce it. She did not deserve to come into the cruel world and go through what I had been through. I couldn't protect myself and my siblings let alone a baby created out of incest. People would talk and my family name be shunned upon forever. It wouldn't be just an embarrassment to my immediate family but to everyone who had the family last name also. Mixed emotions ran up and down my body. I wasn't sure if I loved her because she was my daughter or hated her for the fact she was also the daughter of my brother. And with that I made the decision to save our family face then to have an incest child out of wedlock.
Monday morning arose and I was awake with the birds. This was it the hour glass was emptying out and the time was drawing nearer. Looking across the bed I stared at the child I had carried in my womb, she was made out of hate yet I loved her. I saw myself in her and how she didn't chose to come into this world the way she did. I was trapped and uncertain of what to do in life. I inhaled my last breath as a good woman and wrapped my baby and put her in the rubbish that included the bloodied sheets along with the white dress. Though I lost my faith months ago, I said a prayer for her and placed her out on the side like she wasn't a part of me. I walked back inside drained physically and emotionally. Weeping by the door I heard the rubbish truck pull in to the street and take my daughter away. The sound I once loved hearing on a Monday morning became the constant reminder of the crime I had committed in order to keep the families integrity. Was it worth it? I will never know. In the end, This was the price I had to pay for my mother's actions. And my daughter was the lamb I had to slay in order to save our reputation. Jesus died on the cross for my sins, I died from the guilt of my actions. The boy whom I found happiness in seeing became nothing but a distant memory, just like everything good in my past.
The end.
I regained conscious to find myself in a room that was unfamiliar; I smelt the scent of fresh flowers sitting on the bedside table. “Where am I and what day is it?” I whispered weakly. As I tried to move the side of my thigh began to ache. I lied back down in agony thinking of what happened. The door swung open and I looked up to see my younger siblings run in smiling. “Mary, are you awake? How are you?” they asked excitedly. 21 questions shot out of their mouths faster than what I was able to process. I stared at them watching their movements and not listening to a word they were saying. The room suddenly went quite and their eyes turned to look at me. That’s when I realised I had tears of joy running down my face. I was happy to see them and was thankful to be alive. While trying to wipe the tears away I heard a voice ask “are you okay sister? Daddy said you were hurt trying to clean the house.” I began to snuffle but replied with “sister is okay and daddy is right, I was being clumsy that’s all.” And with that reply every question asked was answered and that incident was never to be spoken about again. Later on that day my father walked in and apologised for what had happened. On the outside I spoke the words “I forgive you” but on the inside I vowed for as long as I live I would protect my siblings from the physical abuse anyway I could.
Three days after being bedridden the bruises healed and the physical pain disappeared. I walked out of the guest room to see everything was as spic and span before the beating. On the table was a note from my brother who wrote ‘put your feet up sis, I’ve cleaned the house for you. I will see you after work.’ A smile beamed off my face as I was grateful for what he just did for me. As I was about to walk back to the room and lie down I heard a sound familiar to something I’ve heard before. I ran into the kitchen and saw the rubbish bags lined up. It was Monday and I had no time to get ready except run out with the bags weighing me down. I heard a laugh echo from somewhere in the street, I bowed my head in shame as I knew they were laughing at me. I sprinted back inside hoping that the boy I had a crush on was sick and absent that day. I slammed the door shut without turning around once. Then at the memory of my green eyed rubbish man, I soon realised he was the reason I was confined to bed for a whole week. I had to get him off my mind to avoid being hurt for something so innocent. I came to the conclusion that maybe walking out looking pale with panda eyes was what it took for him to stop the little communication we had going all together.
Wednesday came along and things in our house were slowly going back to normal. It was the first time my father had ever beaten me to the point of losing conscious and I still wasn’t sure as to why he did it. That night my siblings and I attended a late night church service. Again, I put on the only dress I had owned as my father never had the time for trips to the mall. On our way back we spoke of the sermon given which was about forgiveness. Even though it was hard but I chose to forgive my father whole heartedly and leave everything in the past. My love and respect for him was more than the hate, so who was I to hold on to that hate and let it have a part of me? We sang songs of joy and worship and made our way home safely. Upon arrival I felt something was different. The lights were all off and the front door was left wide open. I told the kids to keep quiet and stay together outside on the driveway. Walking through the door to our home and turning on the light was like opening the door to hell in all its glory. My father was being intimate with someone and I couldn’t bear to look at them together. My head started spinning as I tried to take deep breaths and deal with what I had just witnessed. I screamed “Noooooo get off my brother” striking my father with whatever was closest to me. He let out a yell and demolished everything in his way including striking me 3 times in the head also. At least that’s how many I counted before blacking out again…
The next few weeks were the most difficult weeks of my life. Pretending to be the happy family we were to those who would only view us from the outside. Society had our family on a pedestal, if only they knew the secret I knew. My brother was getting abused by my own father and there was nothing we could do about it. The air at times felt more and more overpowering becoming heavy like a burdening weight. I tried to forget but the image was so strong it gave me nightmares. I shivered at the nauseating memory.
It had been weeks since I had last seen my green eyed boy but with everything that happened at home it just wasn't the right time to flirt with strangers. Walking down the long hallway I spotted a figure walking past in to the kitchen. I froze as I'm the only one who is usually home during the day. “Hello?” I yelled out and in response my brother pops his head in the hallway and smiles. I roll my eyes and with that he snaps and yells with rage “what the fuck is your problem?” shocked I stood still motionless not saying anything. “Who do you think you are rolling your eyes at me? Judging me! You don’t know what it feels like to be touched by your own father. Do you think I like that shit?” He screamed with hurt and anger. Fear quickly started to take over and all I could do was stare back. The next thing I know is I’m being dragged into the lounge and pinned against the window with his hands are around my throat. I see the rubbish truck pull up and long for someone to see and help me. I look outside and I see him, my green eyed boy looking at me. Help! I cried hoping he’d run in and rescue me but instead he moves on to the next house. Tears shot down from my big brown eyes and rested upon my cheeks. His hands then ran up my thigh as I was trying to fight him off. Who was this person? And who was he to rob me of my innocence and a chance of experiencing real love? As my head spun back into reality I noticed my brother staring at me doing the unimaginable with his eyes. I felt disgusted wishing it was all a bad dream, but it wasn’t it was the beginning of my nightmare. My worn out body was fuming as he forced his body on to me holding me to the wall. His lips caressed my neck and the other hand covered my mouth so that my empty screams could not be heard. I then feel his manhood enter me and the same time half of me died with it. Why me? What did I ever do to you? All I ever tried to be was a good sister and this is how I get repaid? I faintly cried out as my brother left me on the floor lifeless. I crawled my way into the bathroom and tried to scrub away the sin that was inserted into my body minutes earlier.
Months passed and the abuse continued and got more frequent. My brother was taking his anger out on me the way my father took his anger out on him. No longer was I a firm believer in Christ. How could I be when everything I was going through God allowed to happen. And on a Sunday evening I felt an indescribable pain every 5 minutes. I was having contractions and I didn't even know it. Alone in my bedroom I silently gave birth naturally to a baby girl. She was perfect but my family wasn't. No one knew of her existence and I wasn't going to announce it. She did not deserve to come into the cruel world and go through what I had been through. I couldn't protect myself and my siblings let alone a baby created out of incest. People would talk and my family name be shunned upon forever. It wouldn't be just an embarrassment to my immediate family but to everyone who had the family last name also. Mixed emotions ran up and down my body. I wasn't sure if I loved her because she was my daughter or hated her for the fact she was also the daughter of my brother. And with that I made the decision to save our family face then to have an incest child out of wedlock.
Monday morning arose and I was awake with the birds. This was it the hour glass was emptying out and the time was drawing nearer. Looking across the bed I stared at the child I had carried in my womb, she was made out of hate yet I loved her. I saw myself in her and how she didn't chose to come into this world the way she did. I was trapped and uncertain of what to do in life. I inhaled my last breath as a good woman and wrapped my baby and put her in the rubbish that included the bloodied sheets along with the white dress. Though I lost my faith months ago, I said a prayer for her and placed her out on the side like she wasn't a part of me. I walked back inside drained physically and emotionally. Weeping by the door I heard the rubbish truck pull in to the street and take my daughter away. The sound I once loved hearing on a Monday morning became the constant reminder of the crime I had committed in order to keep the families integrity. Was it worth it? I will never know. In the end, This was the price I had to pay for my mother's actions. And my daughter was the lamb I had to slay in order to save our reputation. Jesus died on the cross for my sins, I died from the guilt of my actions. The boy whom I found happiness in seeing became nothing but a distant memory, just like everything good in my past.
COMMENTARY
I chose to rewrite one of Witi Ihimaera’s amazing short story Dustbins. From the moment I read this story it blew me away and I saw this as an opportunity to write from a characters point of view whose untold story could open a readers eyes to a taboo topic.
In the original Mary is just known as the Madonna look alike who the rubbish man has a crush on...Later on we find out that the changes he describes in Mary appearance is explained by the abuse happening inside her home. She ends up putting her child in the bin and she is rescued by the rubbish man who risks his own life to save Mary’s child made out of incest. Despite people knowing of the abuse occurring no one offered to help her in her time of need.
I wanted to highlight the ideas of showing man’s inhumanity to man, how people can present one image at the front but be different behind closed doors and the post colonial loss of identity. Here Mary is young and naive young woman who believes that the abuse she suffers at the hand of her father and brother is part of what comes with being the eldest daughter. I have rewritten the story so that Mary is Polynesian but I haven’t changed her character completely. However I have added a few siblings to give it the Polynesian feel. I have also added some background information to hopefully give you readers a trip into what I believe could have happened to Mary inside her home and how society today despite being uninvolved in a family can alter one person’s decision to either keep or get rid of her baby.Her cries were not heard of and the burden she had to carry all alone. The social stereotype of a young Polynesian woman in their own community is to be loyal to her family and not have any rumours that could sabotage the family name. This is what I tried to show in my story, despite the sufferings she goes through for her family she will do the unthinkable.
Being able to write it from a vulnerable woman's point of view hopefully made it interesting and the roller coaster of bad events occurring in Mary's life highlights the topics that people everyone around globe have trouble talking about. Hope you enjoyed it!
In the original Mary is just known as the Madonna look alike who the rubbish man has a crush on...Later on we find out that the changes he describes in Mary appearance is explained by the abuse happening inside her home. She ends up putting her child in the bin and she is rescued by the rubbish man who risks his own life to save Mary’s child made out of incest. Despite people knowing of the abuse occurring no one offered to help her in her time of need.
I wanted to highlight the ideas of showing man’s inhumanity to man, how people can present one image at the front but be different behind closed doors and the post colonial loss of identity. Here Mary is young and naive young woman who believes that the abuse she suffers at the hand of her father and brother is part of what comes with being the eldest daughter. I have rewritten the story so that Mary is Polynesian but I haven’t changed her character completely. However I have added a few siblings to give it the Polynesian feel. I have also added some background information to hopefully give you readers a trip into what I believe could have happened to Mary inside her home and how society today despite being uninvolved in a family can alter one person’s decision to either keep or get rid of her baby.Her cries were not heard of and the burden she had to carry all alone. The social stereotype of a young Polynesian woman in their own community is to be loyal to her family and not have any rumours that could sabotage the family name. This is what I tried to show in my story, despite the sufferings she goes through for her family she will do the unthinkable.
Being able to write it from a vulnerable woman's point of view hopefully made it interesting and the roller coaster of bad events occurring in Mary's life highlights the topics that people everyone around globe have trouble talking about. Hope you enjoyed it!
This is a very good piece of work Luseane, It is so powerful and written to evoke emotion. It is quite a tear jerker. Well done :)
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