Our head prefects' reflected fondly on their time at Logan Park.

Darcy Monteath

And here we are, in the same room again.

The first time we entered the door, it shrunk shut behind us. What was once an open frame now stood locked and small in the centre of the garden, and we were welcomed with the flame of sunlight, grass flickering and eyes wide still.

It paused us for a millisecond. We hadn’t seen a garden gleam so bright before, and while the sun rose on the unmown grass, we believed in anything.

At first, the sight was limitless.

At first, our sense of time stopped, while we scoured the grounds, scanning the surface for wrappers and tags and lighters and spliffs because trash becomes treasure in the hands of explorers.

At first, we were explorers.

And the exploring engulfed us. At thirteen, we danced in the garden to Big Star, climbed over guardrails, and flattened the grass with our bodies and soles of our shoes. We’d fight and we’d cry, and when the forgiveness settled in at 3:25pm, we’d light up a stick and breathe in the taste of the earth, pretending it was tobacco and pretending we were feeling it and pretending and pretending and pretending.

*

And soon, pretending made us older, and we grew tired of the taste.

Two years in and the garden wasn’t moulding to our figures anymore, and the door that shrunk stood locked and taunting us in the middle of the lawn, and we were begging to escape.

The door; still small and still locked, stood static and strong in the middle of the garden. While we shook the handle and picked at the lock, the door wouldn’t budge. While we hurled rocks at the hinges and our bodies at the surface, while slingshots and catapults served no purpose, one by one we’d fall to the ground and search for more options in some kind of hope that we’d missed what we needed to escape.

We had tried everything, but the door stayed small and locked and we stayed bruised, tired giants in the garden, which sank heavy and black by the burn-outs and weight of defeat. This was our home for the next three years, this was our landing, this was it.

Three years to go and the garden was bleak. The greens had turned grey, the sky had turned smoke, and every square inch of what we could see had been matted down to mud. Huddled and cold by the door that shrunk shut, we lifted our heads to the scene, and we realised the view was enough.

So we started again, beginning as the ones who knew nothing at all. For three years we shovelled the sediment, flattened the soil, laid down the seeds and watered the surfaces. The garden grew large, with stone paths and meadows that billowed like smoke from person to person.
And at the heart of it all, stood the door, still small and still shut, and simply forgotten about.

At last, the final day came. With our palms calloused, and hearts full, we turned toward the door. Buried in the sediment untouched before it, was a key and as we picked it up and clicked the lock loose, the door grew and grew and grew

And as if we knew all along, we walked right through the opening.

So here we are, in the same room again. At eighteen we can still believe in everything, cradled in the evening-glow while we hold the final seeds in our hand, to plant through the next door where we begin as the young ones all over again.

And the seeds will sprout like candle-wicks, while the sun-warmed sky flicks the match, letting the flame bloom in the furnace of our garden, and back through the door, the next ones will simply watch it glow. 

Grace Jones

I’ve heard a lot of speeches, and honestly, half of them I tuned out and the others left no impression after a week. That said, once, a very, very long time ago, I was fortunate enough to hear something that struck a chord. It was here in this very room.

Picture this: it’s my first day of year 9, back in 2018. I was somewhere over there, about where the Clayton Year 9s are now. I was sitting on the ground, on my own. Before Logan Park, I was at Kaikorai Valley College, and I was the only one from there to come to Logan Park. So, there I was, my first day of year 9 and I felt like a loser with no friends.

But then, this awesome guy comes in, and stands up in front of the Kapa Haka. Cool tattoos and a shiny bald head! It’s Matua Tip! From his speech I received a nugget of wisdom that would change my life:

Whatungaro te tangata, toitū te whenua

As people disappear from sight, the land remains

This whakatauki speaks to the importance and permanence of our land. While people come and go, the land remains.

Although, on first appraisal this appears to be a simple land proverb, I believe that it runs much deeper and is instead a reflection of our personal, social, and relational existence as humans.

Whether we like it or not we are a part of this group, and I think it's crucial to understand how we are individual pieces of a bigger picture that will last much longer than any one moment in our lives alone. Here, at Logan Park, we are a part of something far bigger than ourselves. Yes, over the next few years you will shape this place, but how you shape it will remain long after we're gone.

For some, high school is a potentially turbulent time. For ALL it is transformational. Its impact will dissolve into our aura, endowing us with personhood. Yet despite how intricately our memories are woven in this land, walls, halls; rarely will it hold memories of us. And that's okay.

The only thing we can do is plant a foot, make changes, leave more legacy than some graffiti and aging names engraved on trophies. We are all guardians for the future, and it's our responsibility to maintain and nurture what we have now.

I hope that some part of my time here has contributed to making this school better than it was 5 years ago. For me, learning how to be accountable for my role in this community was a powerful step in maturing, and I feel that it is one that has greatly shaped how I move through the world now.

Matua Tip, wherever you may be right now, I thank you. Your words were just that of a beginning-day's speech, but they touched me in a way that I continue to carry with me today, and I will do for what will likely become the rest of my life. Thank you.

And to everyone else, my challenge to you is this: find your reason, find your people, and learn how to exist with those who surround you, but always be open to change.

Manaaki whenua

Manaaki tangata

Haere whakamua

Care for the land, care for the people and move forward

Thank you.