Will ever the palms

beckon to me?

By Julia Ung

A FIGURE of a girl is seen sitting on a rock against the setting sun.

Darkness has fallen and the cool sea breeze rustles her short dark hair playfully which frames a sensitive and quiet face of a 15-year-old child, She is not a tall girl but is of medium build. The wind blew against her knee-length skirt which was matched with a sleeveless blue and white spotted blouse. The ever gentle wind blew a wisp of hair across her face but she made no move—Muriam was lost in her world of thoughts. , . „... . . ...

Munam Taka is a Fijian girl with two smaller sisters and an older brother, David. David, a cashier in a bank, works in town and is quite an uncommunicative person. Anne and Pam are still going to Primary Sch ool.

The soft grass was stirred by the forever gentle breeze, and all the while, the girl was deep in thought . . . The land, her land, where she was born . . . which brought her up, gave her her education, home and life. Yet could one say she was happy, satisfied and contented?

Could she feel a sense of well-being . . . of having done her best? No, her answer cannot be truly otherwise. If asked why she was so, she could honestly admit to herself that she was not too strong a character.

She stopped and kicked some loose stones into the sea before her mind was on the subject again.

Yes she was weak-charactered.

Was not this proved when it seemed

that all her will-power was sapped away when at lessons? She could sit at her desk and try her best to follow and give intelligent answers. The teacher would ask and her mind would go blank rendering her a com plete fool—and the result was that she would be the class’s object for jesting and made a fool of for several days. Her so-called friends were many. They would laugh and be merry and tell little secrets to her.

But later, to Munam s misery, she found that they were no less than sneaks—they would carry tales be hind her back and ] aug h and j o ke abnnt them aDOUt 6 * riHE once told her parents about 0 her hurt feeling and t h e result was that she was brande d a ‘tale teller’ but they did from that time onwards leave her alone though con temptuous glances were sometimes cas t at her. The good friends she had, though few, did ease up her school life. She also had a teacher wb o, though old, was kind and understanding. It seemed to her, looking back into her primary days that it was a mixture of enjoyment —ij ke going for picnics with one’s familv and winning a large doll at a raffle, and feeling sorry for one self an d wanting, When on hearing that she had pas sed her Secondary Entrance Examinations, Muriam was quite happy. Her parents made much of her success and she was looking for ward to starting high school and

did not pay much attention to her parents’ emphasis on more home study. She was awed on her first day in high school and was on her best behaviour. Lately she was ask ing her parents for new books and pens and rulers. Her parents promised to get her those when her own was broken or used up. She was most disappointed and bitterly ashamed as how could she explain to her parents that all the students at school had everything new and she was the odd one out.

Muriam did not feel too bad at playing with her schoolmates as they did not play much. At any rate, she could not play very well in anything.

She did manage to pass her exams though it was not plain sailing for her as for the other students. She made one steadfast friend in the per son of Penny Oake at that school.

PENNY was a farmer’s daughter and though not at all good mannered, she was a straightforward girl who would stand by her friends.

After some time she did get on quite well with the other girls who did not actually look down upon her. She realised that she was too shy and stupid to be witty and make clever remarks to the boys of her form.

The girls took advantage of her shy ness and embarassed her to such an extent that it always left her de pressed when she left. It occurred to ner that she had quite a restricted ife—more so than most girls of her ige.

"Muri!”, her mother’s calling brought her back to the present.

Her thoughts were resumed after re plying to her mother’s call that she would be coming in soon.

Yes, she did rather have a muddle some and not too spirited life at home. It was not too good for her and she longed to go and start anew.

And she remembered with a quick ness of her mind that she would be leaving for New Zealand for the furthering of her studies next week.

Yes, she hoped everything would be fine. Her idea of New Zealand was hazy but to her it was everything that Fiji was not. There would be many easy jobs for her to take and be proud of but of course she would be at a boarding school and would make new school friends. Her rela tives over there would be taking her to visit exciting new places ... It would be a wonderful life. She would learn to become a specialist in language and do useful work and help people when she grew up. And she would learn all the things she had wanted to since the beginning of her time.

Yes, she would be leaving soon, leaving and soon go back into the house to help her mother to pack her clothing and belongings. Yes, she was leaving for a very, very long time. She was very excited; there was no doubt. It would be her very first time going on a huge plane.

THE palm trees were holding proudly their waving fronds. It

looked to Muriam as if, . . . as if they were waving goodbye, fare-you well ... as her dear parents would soon be doing. And as sudden, it was, she knew she must say goodbye to everything she was familiar with, the familiar blue horizon, the dark mountains and the house with the bedrooms facing the rippling sea with the shore crawling with tiny crabs. This was her home . . . and sitting where she was she could think clearly and peacefully; the atmos phere of the clear, the wide and the fresh space had slowly and steadily brought home to her a kind of sad ness.

“Muri, will you come in or do you want to catch a cold!" her mother called again. Night had truly arrived and the chirping of the crickets was

more prominent, revitalising her

dulled senses. With an exclamation she stood up and then slowly walked towards the house. Yes she would be leaving. She w-a-s glad to leave wasn’t she? . , . and eager to start on her own. But this would mean she must leave her old life, the life she had known when she emerged from her childhood mist of blankness and ignorance.

Then in her heart of hearts, she knew that by going away she would have her first test of whether she really loved her homeland. Fiji, enough to return. Will her memories of home in Fiji fight for her return? . . . Will ever the palm trees beckon to her?