The Labour of Love
Words by Crystal Vitolio | Tiavea, Lepea, Falealupo | She/Her
Growing up, the words “Ou te alofa ia te oe” were displayed more in one’s actions, rather than said aloud. Acts of alofa were shown in the roof over my head, the food on my table, the clothes that I wore, and the school I went to. ‘I love you’ was shown in the late night shifts my Dad would roster himself up for, while I was fast asleep in the comfort of my warm bed.
The labour that this kind of love requires is one of blood, sweat, and tears that my Dad has never once failed to provide in abundance all throughout my twenty years of existence.
He worked as a taxi driver, an office cleaner, and a window cleaner. All three jobs, he would work simultaneously through the working week. A common lifestyle for many of the aunties and uncles out there—our very own superheroes.
Dad always instilled in me that education was integral to cutting off this cycle of working menial jobs to make ends meet—jobs that require one to work the labour of a thousand men to receive the pay of a single mouth to feed. A cycle that many immigrants from the motherland met upon arrival to this supposed land of opportunities. The land that only white New Zealand seems to be systematically born into.
Watching the way Dad would be the first one to leave home in the morning and the last to return was enough for me to decide that University was most definitely what I wanted. Man, how these thoughts were always way easier in my head (kefs).
Fast forward to 2019, I'm 18 years old, fresh out of college and straight into University. I entered the first couple of weeks at uni with a mental etching of my last name on my forehead—’VITOLIO’. A constant reminder of myself not only being the first of many Vitolio’s to walk these hallways, but also a reminder of my ‘why’.
Give or take a few more weeks later, and slowly but surely, my motivation for uni hit an all time low. I had completely forgotten my ’why’, even the mental etching of my last name was turning into the word ‘VAIN’. It was all I saw in my reflection most days, the perfect word to describe the kind of effort I was giving to my schoolwork, and more so my family. The guilt of not putting 100% into my studies was consuming me everyday. Especially whilst when my Dad was 19, he moved away from everything he knew in his village of Tiavea in Samoa, to come here and work for himself and his family. If he could do all of that and more, then how come I was out here complaining about deadlines and word limits? ‘Selfish’ was all I kept thinking of myself.
At the start of this year, I did some heavy reflecting on my first year of uni and realised I was drowning in my own expectations. Making sure I dragged myself deep into my studies to equate to the labour Dad worked and the sacrifices he took to provide abundant routes of opportunities for me—even at my own detriment. I chucked myself into the deep end and expected that gesture to be grand enough for my own labour of love. When in reality, it wasn’t love. It was me losing sight of why I even wanted to be in uni in the first place.
I draw strength from this. Having lost sight of my purpose was what made me regain momentum in myself too. No amount of labor could ever amount to the kind of love I have for my family, for my Dad. Alofa cannot be measured when it is infinite, it is more deeply rooted in intent. Raw and genuine.
When I find myself forgetting these things, I am always reminded of what my Dad has always tried to teach me. That hard work is my vessel, and alofa and family are my foundations. He is the path of stars in the night sky that guide me into the direction I desire, with all the values he has taught me. This is what motivates me the most, and realigns my vessel towards a clearer sight on my why.
Towards our own journey, we show each other...“Ou te alofa ia te oe”.