Change Hurts.

I’ve been away to long. A lot has been happening. My sugars crept up again and I need to lose weight again. I’m unfit and exercise hurts, reining in my diet hurts.

I’ve been learning Dharug language (my ancestral tongue) and researching my past. It’s traumatising yet addictive. And I’ve given myself laryngitis from learning the new sounds. Probably because I’ve got a lump in my throat at the time, realising all the history and culture that were hidden from me and my mob.

If you can’t understand why I’d be upset about what is probably a small fraction of my DNA may I recommend the book or miniseries ‘The Secret River’ and if you don’t share similar lineage just imagine that at one stage you had red coat, convict and Dharug flowing through you. I feel guilty and invaded and pride all fight for domination as I watch a culture tens of thousands years old be murdered, raped, dehumanised.

This is of course the story of many civilisations throughout history. But it doesn’t make it ok for those that have endured it. But we do endure. We might have lighter skin and features but our culture still prevails. I envy my language teacher in that her grandmother passed on stories and knowledge such as how to dog for yams.

Aboriginal was not something my family talked about a lot . My grandmother was born on a reserve and I’m only now beginning to piece together what that would have been like. I’m beginning to see that the Dharug were treated like second class citizens on their own land and treated like children monitored and kept seperate from the rest of society.

Though the recognition of the past is painful for me, how much more so the Dharug at the time of early settlement. To go from proud custodians of the land to being treated like criminals (sometimes by criminals in the form of ex convicts). The white man put a stick in the ground and claimed the thousands of years land of my people.

And then they told them to forget the past. There were actual pamphlets about how to assimilate to the British way. And actual plans to breed the black out of us. And so many chose to forgive and forget, though there was really no other choice.

I like to think the way my Nan always took care of everyone, from her siblings when their mother died young, to her own 8 children, to her siblings children when their parents died young to friends who needed a hand, strangers who needed a kind word-I think this must be the Dharug way. My Nan, you couldn’t tell her you liked something in her house because she would give it to you. She would literally give you the shirt off her back.

Family was really important to Nan and so it became for all of us. Didn’t matter what a person did or didn’t do that was your family and family were always welcome.

So change is hard but sometimes through change we come back to who we really are and what really matters, our roots. So I’m wearing my laryngitis like a badge of honour this week. I’m a pioneer in my family working hard to uncover what was lost and share it with my mudjin (family). Who I know I am forever bond too deep down in our roots.

I will work hard to be healthy because I cannot rest until we know our story and we can pass it on to the next generation. Having to relearn your language and culture is bloody hard but I’m going to do it a bit shit til I get it right.

Yanu (Bye)