I’ve always believed, quite passionately, that there’s something fundamentally good and decent about most Fijians. Yes, most.
Despite the coups (we’ve had enough to qualify for a loyalty card), the soaring crime, the pockets of violence, the gossip networks that travel faster than Wi-Fi and the occasional uncle who still thinks he’s the Minister of Everything…I’ve witnessed something deeper. Something truer.
I’ve witnessed goodness.
I’ve experienced compassion, generosity, humour and kindness in their purest, most unpolished form. It’s a “Fijian” thing I’ve come to understand and appreciate. And it fills me with a certain sense of parochial pride and wonder.
And despite the pain I endured growing up in Fiji, I must admit, hand on heart, I had an absolute ball. My childhood and teenage mates are still my mates today. We may live in different cities, countries, hemispheres and sometimes even different moral planets, but thanks to social media, the friendships remain. That’s the beauty of Fijian friendships: we argue, we disagree, we roll our eyes at each other’s political opinions…but the affection stays. The bond stays. We value each other more than the point being argued.
You won’t find that everywhere, not even in places with better roads, cleaner sidewalks or supermarkets with six kinds of milk.
The Honest Truth About Why I Write
I write stories and articles because I want to uplift people, shine a little light, and tell the truth about life as I see and understand it. Not because I have all the answers and know everything. Far from it.
After 73 years on this planet, I still have my “L-plates” firmly attached. And I’m proud of them. Because it keeps me grounded from crossing swords with an overinflated ego and it keeps me humorously humble. Or so I tell myself!
Honestly, I’m convinced they’ll never come off. Life is the kind of journey where just as you master one chapter, another starts and you realise you’ve been reading the wrong bloomin’ manual the whole time.
Every time someone tells me, “Colin, open your eyes! Fiji’s not what it used to be!”
I say, “True. It isn’t. And it never will be again.”
But neither will you. Neither will I.
Because everything changes – people, nations, weather patterns, hairstyles, waistlines. Time marches on with zero regard for our nostalgia. All of us are evolving with age. Even the ones who spruce up with a little Botox or a toupee.
The “good old days” aren’t coming back, not because life’s worse now, but because our knees, backs and eyesight simply can’t handle them anymore.
And let’s be honest: half of us now suffer brain fade so regularly we should be issued government grants for “cognitive tourism.”
Growing Old: A Full-Time Job Disguised as a Biological Process
There was a time tying my shoelaces took five seconds. Now I need to calculate angles, plan breathing patterns and occasionally pray I don’t pass out mid-bend.
Getting out of a car used to be easy.
Today it’s a carefully choreographed manoeuvre involving physics, core strength and a brief but respectful negotiation with God.
My back? Ah yes.
My back is now a meteorologist’s dream. It predicts rain long before the Bureau of Meteorology even drafts a press release. And all those injuries I collected decades ago – sporting mishaps, youthful bravado, car accidents – they’ve all returned like overdue bills demanding my time and uncomfortable attention.
Showering, dressing and going out used to be one seamless activity I did without even a moment’s thought.
Now they’re separate phases:
Phase 1: Preparation
Phase 2: Execution
Phase 3: Sit Down and Recover Before the Next Task
Memory? Well, if I don’t write something down immediately, it gets filed in a mysterious internal folder called, “Gone With The Wind”. I’ve walked into rooms with purpose and walked out baffled. I’ve stood in supermarkets waiting for divine revelation as I stare at a shelf of canned tomatoes trying to remember why I was there in the first place. Oh yeah, that list. I check my phone. And there it is. Could’ve saved myself all the stress and anxiousness if I remembered it was there in the first place. Damn!
Driving requires more attention and spatial awareness. Until the front fender gently scrapes the Towbar of the car in front of me while I’m trying to park. I berate myself something shocking. Then I realise that “touch parking” is a little trick artfully managed by old codgers like me to keep the legacy alive.
Lifting things? Well that requires risk assessment.
Kicking a soccer ball with my grandson? If you saw me do my warm-up routine it would impress a professional athlete. Just joshing!
But you know what? This is life. It changes. It tests us. It deepens us.
Growing old isn’t for the faint-hearted. But it’s absolutely for the grateful.
Which brings to mind that legendary American rock band, the “Grateful Dead”, who were clearly onto something long before the rest of us were even aware of it.
The Beauty of Age, Memory & Survival
I’ve lived long enough to know that the aches and pains are reminders that I’m still here. That I’ve survived things that could’ve taken me out. That I carry memories richer than gold and friendships stronger than time.
We grow, we slow, we soften. But we also appreciate life in a way we never could when we were young, reckless, bulletproof and convinced nothing could ever go wrong. We were invincible. Or so we thought!
So yes, Fiji has changed.
The world’s changed. And changing every single moment of every single day.
Our bodies most definitely have changed in the most remarkable ways. Our thinking? Well I’m not going to go there in case I miss something. And by now you’ve probably worked out why.
But the goodness? The compassion? The humour? The love? They’re still here. Still alive. Still visible if you look hard enough.
And if you ask me, that’s worth growing old for.
L-plates and all.
COLIN DEOKI lives in Melbourne, Australia and is a regular contributor to this newspaper. The views expressed in this article are his and not necessarily of this newspaper.
