Identity
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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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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
The Hidden Room 