Rap singer, novel writer, Shoebox Christmas freedom fighter
Dear H, This one is pretty personal and there’s a lot packed into the paragraphs, so take your time reading them. These first three letters were the hardest for me to write. But I did so instead of sitting down with you when you’re older,
Dear Huhana and Kāhu, Last night I dreamed my Grandad Ray (your Great Grandfather), had passed away. In the dream, my phone rang. “Hello?’ “Hey,” Mum said, “Grandad’s died.” Three words. I felt my stomach drop, but Mum sounded so composed. No surprise
Dear Huhana and Kāhu, I was about eight-years-old when I realised how shy I was, how badly I got stage fright, and that I could never, ever, ever rap in front of a crowd. My legs were only a bit bigger than yours are now
I started writing this about four weeks ago on my way home from seeing my little cousin for the last time. She was 21 years old when she hung herself because she just couldn’t get things to feel right inside. I almost didn’t finish it since the
