Today, I watched two ancient cultures collide in front of me like out of control trains.
I was sitting eating lunch in the sunny courtyard of the college I’m attending. A few students were singing to the crowds, another was practising a folk dance, another was offering to paint cultural symbols (the 24 hour wash off variety) on any bit of your anatomy it was decent to reveal.
Myself and another “mature” student volunteered to have a koru spray gunned onto our forearm, with our younger classmates cheering us on. From today, I am an honorary Yorkshire Maori.
The collision happened later as I was wading through rather a lot of botanical terms, trying to decipher a complex piece of floral art, attempting to find the common terms rather than the technical ones.
There I was, muttering Latin to myself at the computer, whilst displaying an ancient Maori tattoo, which will vanish tomorrow in the shower.
I am seriously wishing that the long Latin botanical terms would vanish down the drain too, and I could stick to “Peace Lily” “European Privet” and “Rattan Cane”.
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