WHEN MY DEAR FRIEND FOXY READ THE FIRST DRAFT OF THIS manuscript, she turned to me wide-eyed. ‘Mim, how on earth did you turn out so normal?’ This question got me wondering, so I’ve tried to weave in little insights here and there as to how I ended up fairly well adjusted.
I had a breakdown of sorts as well as a breakthrough while writing this story and excavating my past. In particular, seeing my mum every day became challenging and confronting the more memories that emerged. I’m exploring this further in a new story I’m writing, one about reconciling past trauma, forgiveness and gratitude.
Since I finished writing the last chapter of House of Kwa, Aunty Clara passed on in 2020 during the Covid pandemic. She was fortunate to have David, Steven and Josephine by her side.
This leaves Dad, the thirty-second child, the very last Kwa of his generation in his own Kwa strand. He’s eighty-seven and still has plenty of tenant and building schemes keeping his mind active.
In Perth, Adrian and his wife, Lee, have a wonderful baby, Grayson, who brings Dad such joy when he allows it, and we all attended Jerome’s wedding to Genevieve this year. This may be taken as evidence that we have pushed through our own Kwa stories alright.
When the dragon closes his eyes for good one day, I will know that tiger and predator reached an understanding of sorts and a kind of peace in the end – one that could really only come about from telling my story in order to let it go.
As I hand the brush of Kwa to my sons and daughters so they can paint their own stories, I give gentle instructions at the edge of the blank page: ‘Don’t hesitate to make a mark. You can always paint over it, my love, any time you like. You are not bound by history to repeat its cycle. Your story is yours, but don’t forget that if you ever need it, there’s a Kwa spark in you waiting to be called.’