I have been daydreaming of the moko kauae I will receive after I publish my book. Because I descend from Kupe I want his kererū Rupe diving down my chin. That courting ritual which is so divine to watch in the hotter parts of the year. But this isn’t up to me. Is it? I made a joke to a former friend about wanting an art nouveau moko, because of my Pākehā roots. These failed attempts at jokes are why I can’t be left in charge of any design choices. The patterns are much older than me and it is prudent to show them respect. Niwareka, the spirit wife who fled to the underworld after Mataora beat her, and would only resurface with him once he had apologised, his remorse carved into koru flaring from his nostrils and over his cheeks.