No matter what your cultural background, acknowledging it, embracing it and understanding it is vital.
If you don't, do you really know where you have come from? And if you don't know where you've come from, can you truly be confident in who you are?
Your native tongue is a big part of your culture and knowing how to speak and understand it can only strengthen your identity.
My mum is Māori and my dad is Pākehā so being able to fluently speak and understand both English and te reo should provide me with a stronger connection to my culture.
But unfortunately, I'm only fluent in one language - and not being able to speak te reo is something I am constantly disappointed in.
Growing up, I spent a lot of time at my marae despite living in another town.
I went to kohanga for a short time at the request of my nan, before my mum moved me to kindergarten.
I took it up again in my first year of high school but after one term I switched to French because my ignorance led me to value the ability to converse in another person's language when I visited their country more than being able to speak my own language.
The thought of that way of thinking riles me now.
'Beautiful kind man': Ngāti Ranginui iwi leader Colin Bidois dies
Matakana Island proposal prompts encouraging level of interest
Today, we feature a story about adults going back to school to learn te reo. Riapo Panapa speaks of a void he has always felt not being able to connect with his culture through the language and I completely understand that emptiness.
My mum never learned her language because it wasn't exactly encouraged when she was growing up and in turn, the value of knowing your language was not passed on to me.
I've spent most of my life without a strong desire to learn myself but it's something that I believe eventually catches up with you - you question whether moves you've made have come from a lack of identity.
And for me, I've reached that point and these adults who are learning te reo are proof that it is never too late to learn.
In fact, my own nan is living proof of that.
My nan started learning te reo when she was a grandmother, well after her own children had left home and were raising their own families. While she was growing up and raising children, being fluent in te reo wasn't celebrated in society.
But as a kuia, it became an option and she learned her language, to strengthen her cultural identity, which is inspiring to say the least.