Ko tā te Aroha e Tuku
Nā Reremoana Ormsby (October, 2026)
I’m Māori.
In any conversation about love, that’s what comes first. Whether that conversation takes the form of a story, a waiata, or a poem, my connection to whakapapa is present before the first word or note arrives.
That doesn’t mean that being takatāpui comes second, as though my identity can be arranged into a neat, ordered hierarchy of information; instead, it means that when I love, I love as wāhine Māori.
When I write, sing, grieve, desire, or recall a memory, I do not negate my whakapapa to do it.
Reo pākehā functions on borders and boundaries. Define yourself, name your relationships, (over) explain what you mean, what you think, and feel. Those types of borders begin to objectify who you are. Reo Māori holds more. Meaning is conveyed through metaphor, whenua, and whakapapa.
When I draw on memories to contextualise the longing I feel, or share humour from tales of my tīpuna, reo Māori channels everything and everyone that led me to the current moment. That’s surely the most intimate expression of love there can be
Interpretation, never 'translation'
Te reo Māori is deeply contextual, with slight differences seen across iwi. Check out what dialect differences look like across the motu.
Iwi DialectsWaiata and poetry have always felt more honest to me than wordy explanations. To explain something - especially in English - is to start separating, like pulling a subthread of twine until it loses its connection to the others.
The blend of notes, the harmony of different voices - waiata is woven with all parts of what it means to be wāhine Māori.
A waiata can speak to love without placing it under a microscope. It holds the person I love alongside the people I come from. It weaves longing, mischief, sensuality, devotion, and loss without insisting that any one of those things tells the whole story. When it comes to queer love especially, nuance like that is so relevant. There is never one part of love which takes precedent over another.
My love for my wife is not an isolated romance between two individuals. That’s what a camera might pick up - what a dictionary definition may offer the reader. Our love lives among our whānau, whenua, and mokopuna. Wordy descriptions try to explain the immediate context: womanhood in te ao Māori spans way further back into history.
The rich history of waiata
Waiata is a cornerstone of te ao Māori. Check out this resource from Te Ara to delve deeper into the art form.
Take me to Te AraKupu like aroha, tau, whakapapa, wairua, and takatāpui carry histories and relationships within different rohe that their nearest English equivalents simply cannot contain.
Within waiata, I don’t need to switch between being Māori and being takatāpui. There is no need to code switch: both are carried in the same breath. A waiata can reveal you while still protecting what is sacred. Not everything that is true needs to be explained, labelled, and made available for public mass consumption.
Waiata doesn’t make my takatāpui identity more Māori, nor does te reo Māori make my love more poetic. I use them because they are already mine.
Confused on code-switching?
This excellent whakaaro describes how postcolonial societies often force BIPOC folk to 'act white' in certain scenarios.
Learn more hereThey [kupu Māori and their cultural context] are among the ways I know how to express my whole self.
The best love stories don’t need to explain themselves: they can carry on the breath, slip gently within a melody, and offer themselves up to those who know how to listen. That, to me, is what waiata and kupu Māori means in the context of ‘queer’ love. It is a demonstration of what is possible when you refuse to divide parts of yourself before speaking.