My frantic schedule as a tina (mother) compels certainty that I am a heroine of my own kind. A heroine of my own world. Not the mother who wakes up to the sound of birds in her garden with violin playing in the background. Or one who would snap her finger and the kids would form a formation while singing Do-Re-Mi before single filing out to the car for school. As a heroine of my own world, I persevere through the opposite of that.
When I reflect back to legendary myths about heroines across the Pasifika, I marvel at their strength, preservation, and dauntless examples as warlords. Like Ka wahine ‘ai Honua, or the goddess of fire Pele – she shaped and sheltered the Hawaiian lands. In Samoa, I admire the Siamese twin sisters Taema and Tilafaiga’s journey that procured titles and proverbs presently used by the Samoan people. They profusely left behind tales which not only contributed to histories of lands and the ocean, but also influenced the growing mana of the tina in the family.
As a mother, I find strength to cope with every responsibility through the eyes of my family. My mom has. Grandmothers, great grandmothers and every woman in our lineage of ancestors did. My gratitude extends far out to pillars who appraised the value of culture and family. I wouldn’t be embracing much now, without the restless mothers and goddesses who instilled courage into the feats I now battle with as, “Mom, mommy, ma, Momma, Mummy, Momsy…mummified!”
I remember the tale of the Siamese twin sisters Taema and Tilafaiga, whose breeding voyage knitted a foundation of the Samoan culture. They are known in real stories as the sisters who sailed between Fiji, Tutuila (American Samoa), Manu’a, Savaii and Samoa. Tilafaiga is the mother of a mighty war goddess by the name of Nafanua. Nafanua’s supernatural powers have no equal. Her immortal influences crafted systems currently embraced by the Independent Samoan government.
In the course of an endless hardship in Falelatai village, Nafanua sailed out to save her people from slavery. When Nafanua arrived unaccompanied with her war clubs, there wasn’t a presumption that she’ll drive a force of warriors away from her village. She didn’t have an army. However, her scorching powers formed an army of dragonflies and insects that fought beside her. Although men outnumbered her, Nafanua killed a numerous count during battle. At the wake of dawn, a breeze swept her upper apparel, exposing her breasts to the men. The Warriors were embarrassed and immediately fled out into the forest.
Relatively, my contemporary dream is some sort of power that’ll someday lure my imaginary Edward Scissorhands to organize plates, spoons and laundry around the house. Or perhaps a wand gadget devised to hold all the chores while the other arm is sitting at the drive-thru of Starbucks awaiting a Venti-sized caramel macchiato with two shots of espresso and less foam.
Every tina, or mother is a heroine in many ways. A tina is a representation of her own kind, a legend of her own story and a descendant of heroine ancestors. I am a heroine in my own world who still wakes up to the sound of the fire alarm because my better half has left the toaster notch at 5. A mother who is always relieved to be the first at the school drop off zone, and in the latter discovers a peanut butter face with a missing pair of shoe. Echoing in the hallway some mornings are numerous complaints to start my day: Mommy, the dog ate my science project! Mommy what am I going to wear? Where’s my catcher’s mitt? These mind-boggling occasions happen so often that all I can reminisce about are the days when there was no Starbucks, no toaster or a car; but a dear mother who wakes up before sunrise to grind the Koko Samoa (Samoan cocoa beans) and gather pandanus leaves to weave a fine mat for my family.