As I stand in the centre of the ua usiusi faʻavaʻasavili, I notice that my breath and heartbeat are in tune with the sounds and echoes of the room. I can hear the faint greh greh (grunt) and groh groh (deeper groaning sound) of Leyla Steven’s video, the electrical hum of Elyas Alavi’s neon creations, and the rhythmic sighs of Sancintya Mohini Simpson’s clay lotas. The whispers and gentle footsteps of other visitors remind me of our connected role in community and kin. The museum vibrates with tension and grace. The space feels charged: like a resting place for collective and vast Oceanic ancestral memories. As a kindred viewer, I am not only struck by the heaviness of the works but also by the weight of piri’anga (connection / relationship / intimate). Mana (spiritual lifeforce of Oceania) is here, and she is grounding.