Building Legacies.

My journey has taught me that leadership isn’t just about personal success—it’s about creating a ripple effect that inspires others to rise as well. The moment I realized that I wasn’t just living for myself was when my nieces began asking me questions—not just about school, but about life, about choices, and about what they could become. Their eyes would light up when I told them stories about my university days or my travels abroad, and it struck me: I am their example of what is possible.

But being a role model isn’t only about sharing stories of achievements. It’s about being honest about the challenges too—the self-doubt, the fear of failure, and the pressure to succeed. I make sure they know that no path is perfect. Life isn’t a straight line; it’s a series of twists and turns that you navigate with persistence and faith.

One of my nieces, Mafi, has hands that seem made for creating beauty. She twists and weaves humble twine into intricate kiekies, her fingers moving with a rhythm and grace that speaks of generations of skill passed down. I’ve encouraged her to dream beyond what she knows now. I tell her, “Your hands are a gift, and your hand holds power. Your talent is creativity.”

It’s not just empty encouragement. I’ve taken her to markets, introduced her to online platforms, and even helped her sell her first few pieces. When Mafi counted the cash she earned from selling her first kiekie, her hands shook slightly, and I could see her hesitation to take the money. ‘I never thought…’ she began. ‘I never thought someone would want something I made.’ I smiled and said, ‘This is just the beginning.' Her eyes lit up with a spark that told me she was starting to see what I saw in her all along: potential.

Step by step, I want her to see that her future is full of possibilities, even if they look different from mine.

I often remind my nieces: education isn’t just about grades or degrees. Education is more than just books and classrooms—it’s a gateway. It’s about opening doors and giving yourself choices. I remind them that whether they choose to walk through that door or not is up to them, but I want them to know it’s there.

School isn’t for everyone, and I’ve made peace with that. Some people will thrive in academia; others will shine with their hands, their voices, their hearts. What matters is finding your strength and building on it. My niece’s hands may not hold a pen as naturally as they hold a needle and thread, but that doesn’t make her less capable. It just means her path is different. My role is to show them that whichever path they choose, they can walk it with confidence and purpose.

With my nieces in their teenage years, I’ve also embraced the role of the "cool aunt," the one who balances tradition with modernity. My cousin, their mother, is more traditional in her approach, which I respect deeply. But some things fall outside her comfort zone—things I know these girls need to hear.

So, I’ve taken it upon myself to teach them about the world beyond the island. I talk to them about safe boundaries, healthy relationships with boys, and the importance of valuing themselves. I teach them how to use the internet responsibly—not just for social media but for learning, growing, and sharing their talents with the world. I teach them to care for their mental health, to be bold enough to speak up when something doesn’t feel right, and to always stand up for themselves. Through my business, I show them how to serve customers with warmth and talk to tourists with confidence, helping them see the value of kindness and professionalism. I also guide them in managing money wisely, teaching them how to save, budget, and understand the effort behind every dollar earned. These lessons aren’t just about skills—they’re about equipping them with tools to build a life of independence, purpose, and possibility.

Being the eldest daughter in a Tongan family comes with unspoken responsibilities. It’s a blessing and a weight. You’re expected to care for others, to lead with humility, and to serve without complaint.

But lately, I’ve come to appreciate it as a privilege. There is a quiet joy in teaching others, in watching their eyes light up when they learn something new or realize they’re capable of more than they believed. To serve is to lead with love, to teach is to leave a legacy. This sense of duty shapes the way I show up—not just for my nieces, but for everyone I guide.

In many ways, I see myself as a bridge—not just between generations, but between cultures. My Japanese heritage has taught me discipline, precision, and a love for beauty in simplicity. My Tongan heritage has given me the strength of community, resilience, and an unshakable connection to my roots. These lessons guide how I lead and inspire those around me. I’ve learned to embrace my identity as a bridge between two worlds and I draw strength from it.

With my young daughter growing up, I want her to also embrace all elements of her unique identity —the traditions of our ancestors and the opportunities of the modern world. As I watch my daughter grow, I wonder what kind of world she’ll step into. I want her to see that she can embrace all the pieces of who she is and where she is from—Talau Vava'u, 'Ohonua 'Eua, Fonoifua Ha'apai, Kolomotu'a, Ha'ateiho Tongatapu, Tokyo Japan and that she can carve a path that’s all her own.

When I think about my late father, I realize that his life was a quiet example of leadership. Just as my father paved the way for me with his sacrifices, I now find myself clearing the path for those who come after me. He taught me that breaking cycles isn’t easy, but it’s necessary. He showed me the value of education, the dignity of hard work, and the importance of dreaming bigger. Now, I carry his lessons forward—not just for myself, but for the next generation. I also think about my mother—her sacrifices and unwavering strength have shaped me in ways I can’t fully express. She left Japan to raise a family in Tonga, navigating an entirely new culture, far from home, all while working across the education sector in Tonga. She became the first Japanese Soroban teacher, bringing her knowledge and passion to our community, and teaching a generation the power of numbers and focus. Even now, as a grandmother, she continues to care for us, her heart overflowing with love for our family. It brings her joy to spend time with my daughter, sharing stories and lessons that bridge the past with the future. Her love and resilience are the foundation upon which I stand, and I strive to pass down the strength she has shown me.

Now, I carry their lessons forward—not just for myself, but for the next generation. I want the next generation to know with confidence that the world is bigger than they imagine and full of opportunities waiting to be seized.

When I look at my nieces, my nephews, and now my baby daughter, I see the ripple effect of my parent’s sacrifices and my own struggles. They’re dreaming of things and doing things that once felt out of reach for our family—studying abroad, starting businesses, and creating art that speaks to the world.

This is what it means to lead with intention: to plant seeds of possibility, to water them with love and guidance, and to watch as they grow into something beautiful and unexpected.

Sometimes, the weight of being a role model feels overwhelming. What if I fail? What if I lead them in the wrong direction? But then I remind myself: leadership isn’t about perfection—it’s about showing up, even when you’re scared, and being honest about the journey.

I am not perfect, and I don’t have all the answers. But I do have hope, and I have faith in the future these young ones are building—one dream, one step, and one creation at a time.