My friend and fellow Rewan, Dr Winifereti Nainoca, posted on social media in vosa vakaViti yesterday, and it struck a chord with me.
She expressed concern about the number of iTaukei men, in particular, who were dying too young. The causes are not limited to HIV or drugs. There are also the more familiar and, in many cases, preventable threats: non-communicable diseases, excessive yaqona drinking combined with cigarette smoking, eating too late or eating the wrong foods, too much processed and fatty food, and not getting enough sleep.
Someone in the comments added another wise observation: as we grow older, we need to pay greater attention to what we put into our bodies—drink more water, reduce fatty foods and sugar, and be mindful of the things we consume that can harm our liver and overall health.
Of course, people will say, quite rightly, that these are matters of individual choice. And they are.
But individual choice should not prevent us from speaking honestly about consequences. Sometimes telling the truth is unpopular, particularly when it challenges habits we have become comfortable with.
That is why I am grateful for Dr Wini’s post. The more people read, share and talk about it, the wider the circle of awareness becomes. Perhaps someone will stop and ask themselves: How much grog am I drinking? When should I stop? Am I eating at the right time? What am I actually eating? Am I getting enough sleep?
And perhaps, most importantly: Am I spending enough quality time with my children? Do we know where our children are? Do we know who they are with, what they are doing and what influences are shaping them?
These questions matter because health is not simply about avoiding illness. It is about how we live—and how we care for the people and things entrusted to us.
That thought led me to something else particularly relevant to us as iTaukei.
We are very good at building houses.
We can save, plan, borrow, raise money, gather family and friends, and eventually put up a house we can proudly call our own. Building a home is an achievement. It represents security, progress, sacrifice and something tangible to leave for our children.
But there is another side to the story.
We are not always as good at maintaining the houses we build.
A small leak appears, but we wait. A patch of paint begins to peel, but we leave it. The roof starts showing signs of age, but we tell ourselves it can wait another year. A crack appears, a gutter begins to sag, a door no longer closes properly—and somehow the small problem becomes a much larger and more expensive one.
We build well. We maintain less well.
And if you look around, I sometimes wonder whether this habit has extended beyond our homes into aspects of national life: schools, hospitals, government buildings, public facilities and other properties that deteriorate because maintenance is postponed until repair becomes unavoidable. But that is an argument for another day.
My thought today is about our homes—and the lesson they might teach us about ourselves.
As we move through life, our bodies change. We know this instinctively. We move from being teenagers to young adults, from marriage to parenthood, from middle age to mature years. Our bodies tell us that we are changing. We slow down. We may need glasses. We cannot party the way we once did. Our dietary needs change. We become more conscious of our health. We visit the doctor more often. We watch our children grow into adults, marry and have children of their own. Eventually, we become grandparents. We accept that our bodies require different kinds of care at different stages of life.
So why do we sometimes expect our houses to remain exactly as they were when we built them 10 or 20 years ago?
Our cars certainly do not get that treatment. We service them. We change their oil. We replace worn tyres. We fix problems before they become breakdowns. We understand that a vehicle requires regular maintenance if it is to serve us well for many years.
Our bodies are no different. And neither are our houses.
A house ages just as we do. The roof ages. The paint fades. Plumbing wears out. Electrical systems need attention. Windows and doors deteriorate. Bathrooms and kitchens eventually need updating. Even the furniture will need replacement. What was perfectly adequate when the children were young may no longer suit the needs of a growing or ageing family. I know peers, for example, who have had to move to the ground floor because they can no longer climb stairs.
Maintenance is not a sign that something has failed. It is a sign that we value what we have.
That, perhaps, is the deeper lesson I take from Dr Wini’s post.
We should not wait for our bodies to break down before we care for them. We should not wait for our cars to stop before servicing them. And we should not wait for our houses to deteriorate before we repair, renovate and repaint them.
The same principle applies to our families and our communities. A child who feels neglected, a relationship left unattended, a school allowed to decay, or a public facility ignored for too long may eventually require far more than a simple repair.
Prevention is not only cheaper. It is an expression of love and responsibility.
We put so much effort into building things: our bodies, our homes, our families, our institutions and our nation.
But building is only the beginning.
What we build will endure only if we are willing to care for it.
A healthy body needs discipline. A reliable car needs servicing. A sound house needs maintenance. A strong family needs attention. A healthy community needs people who notice what is beginning to fail and act before failure becomes collapse.
Maintenance is not a sign that something has gone wrong. It is a declaration that what we have built matters.
So let us care for our bodies before illness takes hold, service our cars before they break down, repair our homes before small problems become crises, and tend to our families and communities with the same patience and commitment.
Because the true measure of what we value is not only what we build, but what we are willing to protect, restore and pass on.
We are good at building.
Now let us become just as good at caring for what we have built.
