AHAKOA HE ITI, HE HŌHĀ – ALTHOUGH SMALL, IT'S A NUISANCE

Words by Rīpeka Raihania (she/her; Ngāi Tāmanuhiri, Rongomaiwahine, Ngā Puhi, Te Aupōuri)

POV: you're at home, you have one thing on your mind, and one thing only. You are DTF. You stop everything you're doing and open the infamous dating (more like hook-up) app we all know and love to hate. Tinder (or Grindr if that's more your cup of tea). You swipe until a profile catches your eye. After mustering the courage to swipe right, BOOM. In big, bold letters: IT'S A MATCH!

Next thing you know, a conversation sparks. Whether it's a dry pickup line, a compliment,

or a simple yet effective “hey”, you are invested in what this kōrerorero entails. As small talk is exchanged, hopes of satisfaction grow.

For all my Māori, if this match is tangata whenua, there runs the risk of sharing ancestral ties. But that conversation doesn't rise until the social media exchange—unless your profile suggests otherwise.

Speaking of social media, they might give you their Instagram. Score! Upon accepting your follow request, the urge to scroll through their feed is strong. Post after post, things seem good. Hold up. Something halts you in your tracks. The cliché yet compulsory RNV post catches your eye, and not because you are unsure if their friend group intended to wear the same thing. Who is that they have their arm around? The familiar face is clearly one of their bros… who you hooked up with after a cheeky night out at Sassy's.

Involuntarily, you assume the homie hopping contradiction ‘bros before hoes’. But do you even care about such a ‘bro’mance? Must you consider yourself a ‘hoe’? You find yourself in a dilemma, I quote, ‘to shlay or not to shlay’. Fate is in your hands, my friend. There is no wrong answer here, and most importantly, no judgement. Just the inevitable conclusion: Welly is a fuckin' small place.

As a fresher, I was hopeful of delving into the cream of the crop Te Whānganui-a-Tara offers since relocating from the (even smaller) Hawke’s Bay. However, the 'cream' of the 'crop' was te ure parari o Kahungungu (Kahungungu's baby gravy basically), through a friend's flat-mate's ex's mate... at a drinks… in Kelburn.

Did I mention they were from the Bay?

University is the perfect dating pool with a mix of backgrounds and diversity, especially in Wellington— or so one would believe. It doesn't take long to run out of people to swipe, and we can all agree it doesn't help when you encounter an old flame more than anticipated. Why must they make an appearance at Sassy's every weekend? You don't want to have a wānanga post-coitus on who you know each other through. Then again, perhaps there is clarity in a debrief (for better or worse) because, to be honest, you'll probably never speak again until destiny brings you both to a mutual friend's 21st.

Exploring the dating scene in your late teens and twenties while at university is just short of awkward and experimental. However, independence and self-determination can be scary but empowering. In our prime youth, life is too short of denying the what if. Relationships and hook-ups are all trial and error. Such choices don't define you as a person. Remember that you can't change the past, nor should you judge others for theirs. When in doubt, just fuckin' YOLO… and use protection. Especially if you're shooting your shot with a friend's flat-mate's ex's mate.

Are these accounts based on authentic experiences or mere fabrications for a story?

That's a secret I'll never tell.

Xoxo R