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Talofa, I am Fay Moana. Just a girl chasing fragments down the rabbit hole—writing truths I was once too quiet to say. The Hidden Room is my place to wonder, to unravel, and to wander inward. I write for the ones who feel too much and speak too little. If that’s you, welcome. I think
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I used to think I was a good person. When I was younger, I followed the rules. I read the Bible. I obeyed my parents. I was nice to people and helpful. I did all the things “good girls” and “good people” were supposed to do. When I was in my twenties and had moved
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The refrigerators hummed in the early morning as I lifted the heavy wooden flaps on the store counter. The store always felt like a prison — you could never go far. My mother left in the car to do the fa‘akau (shopping). She told me she needed me here today. She didn’t ask if I
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In my 20s, every time I travelled back home to Samoa, I noticed my parents were getting older. By then, I’d been living on my own long enough to understand how hard it was to keep a roof over our heads and the electricity on. I stressed about earning enough to help them, but also
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There is a room I’ve built without nails or wood.Its size is immeasurable.A whole world I’ve never shown anyone. At first, it held impossibly coloured landscapes and even more impossible creatures, with grand waterfalls.Somewhere to escape. Somewhere to feel safe. As time went on, the landscapes were abandoned, and a house was built in their
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The Hidden Room 