The Space Between Time and Place
JULY 28, 2024
As I sit before the picnic table, a cherished family heirloom, I am struck by how objects in our lives can connect us to our deepest selves. This tablecloth, with its shimmering orange and blue stripes, is more than a mere piece of fabric—it's a vessel of memories and a symbol of my identity. It's a treasured family heirloom that brings back memories of our summertime picnics. I draw attention to this "object" because it is the focal point of the narrative I want to tell about my identity, namely my ties to the universe, my vanua (land/place), and my ancestors. What role do the seemingly mundane objects in our lives have to do with our journey of self-discovery? Despite its superficial appearance, this tablecloth represents deeper themes, including endless summer evenings, backyard picnics, and get-togethers with loved ones. It also carries the memories of my first experiences as a young mother.
This gives me a way to use the object to investigate more general ideas about identity and heritage, demonstrating how tangible objects may express complex cultural ideas and experiences, including my own beginnings. Just as the tablecloth connects me to my past, the cup of ginger and lemon tea beside me evokes memories of my student days in Aotearoa. Each sip draws me deeper into contemplation about the intersection of time, place, and identity. The custom of having a cup of tea in the morning, during lunch breaks, and after dinner became a comforting habit.
Nothing is cozier than a hot cup of tea on a wet day! A little hint of comfort is provided by the scented steam that is rising. I hold the cup in my hands and feel the heat penetrate into my deep brown skin, anchoring me in this transitional time. The cool evening wind and the warmth of the tea symbolize the delicate balance between what is and what might be. I realize it's time to record my story, which is a voyage through the liminal zone between time and place, while I'm still holding the steaming cup of ginger and lemon tea. How does the passage of time and the influence of place shape our understanding of ourselves? To give a more nuanced account, I’m going to begin my journey with crossing an island: Sia Raga, my native island in the northern province of Vanuatu, to Bainbridge Island, where I currently live, inside the Aboriginal territory of the Suquamish People often known as the "People of Clear Salt Water," in Washington State, United States. The Pacific Ocean, the biggest body of water on Earth, connects the two locations.
As I think, I delve into my frame of reference for identity—my Sia Raga culture's epistemology of time and place. I make a connection between my current state of being and knowledge and the strands of my past, from before I became a mother to now, as I'm figuring out how to become a pre-empty nester. I feel as though every cup of tea pulls me farther into this contemplation, fusing the strands of my past and present together. While I sit here, lost in contemplation and doing something I have come to love more and more, I hear my grandmother's voice encouraging me to just sit and listen. A self-aware, contemplative mindset and introspective contemplation are necessary for this lesson, which is too often disregarded in today's society.
It strikes me that in my Sia Raga culture, time is more than just a series of events to be followed. It is relational: it connects all facets of life and existence-more than non humans. This stands in stark contrast to the contemporary, linear perspective of time prevalent in the West, where data is separated, time is divided, and technology concentrates on pressing issues—a microwave mindset that contributes to a stressful existence. Rather, the comprehensive understanding of time that incorporates every aspect of my existence and the wider interdependence of all things allows mere objects like a tablecloth or cup of tea to provide me with comfort. Since this is who I am and what my forefathers taught, I have always understood this way of being. I'm moving across time and geography once more to illustrate a parallel in my life.
I finally put my notepad down and started typing while my fingers stayed over the keyboard. I can see the delicate, fading hues of the evening sun behind me on my laptop screen. My thoughts dance subtly with the digital page as each keyboard makes the screen wobble a little. My notebook's spiral shines in the last of the light, the wire coil moving with every note I write. I stop and observe how light and shadow interact, my breathing rhythm matching the night's constant hum. What I see as my true north is my epistemology because that is my truth, and the location that gives my anthology the clearest meaning is place. My true north is still where I was born, even if I am moving through these spaces and learning from my experiences living outside that my true north - my vanua or place.
To get back to my original point of emphasis, which was relationship as the key to escaping the linear mode of being, I shall reintroduce another object. I'll explain the wooden picnic table and the bench I'm writing from now that I've reached this stage in the story—where I need to build a balance before finishing it—so you may enjoy reading and learning. As I reflect on the tablecloth and the tea, I am reminded of the broader themes of time and place. This contemplation extends to my understanding of time in my Sia Raga culture, which contrasts sharply with the linear perspective prevalent in the West. My son’s handmade table embodies this cultural continuity, linking past and present through craft and ancestorial legacy. This table was handmade by my 24-year-old son, who I haven't hugged since his last visit in May, to assist with our significant move—downsizing. This table is more than simply a place for family dinners; it also symbolizes his ancestors' wisdom that was passed down to him, particularly his late great-grandfather's artistry.
Even though they are no longer among us, his crafts honor their legacy by emulating their abilities and creativity. Our relationships are not explained by time; rather, time gives our predecessors' stories context. As I see in my son's work, these stories are ingrained in everyone of us. How can we continue to create and transform our stories while healing old wounds? In this period of transition, I want to be able to continue to create new stories that transform and find clarity while healing old wounds. Not just by the murmurs of my forefathers but also by creating new stories that can transform and find clarity while healing old wounds. I see the knowledge of my ancestors in the leaves, trees, and the great blue Pacific Ocean that connects the Pacific NorthWest across coastlines, guided not just by their words but also by their presence in my life. The language I speak is a means of expressing who I am and keeping me connected to my roots and ancestors. In navigating through the spaces of time and place, from the cherished tablecloth to the handmade table, I have come to appreciate the intricate connections between my identity, my ancestors, and the cultural wisdom that guides me.
This journey underscores the importance of integrating our past with our present, bridging the linear with the relational, and honoring the narratives that shape who we are. Among the ancestors whose stories are profoundly embedded in my identity are my mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. I am reminded of the significance of my relationship journey with time and place, where my identity truly resides. Acknowledging the duality of my life has formed my concept of identity and molded my understanding of the Sia Raga cosmology that all things are of two sides' (tavalu). In the end, despite time's linear viewpoint, our narratives act as bridges and a reminder that time acts as a reminder of my vanua, or place, to continue to remind of my ways of being and of whom I come from.
Space Between Time And Place by Mere T. Sovick
