What Were You Born To Do?

My life was aimless until I realized what I was born to do. I was born to write and to put into words the thoughts in my mind, my observations about love and life, and the discoveries that I have made along the way. I will always believe that LOVE conquers all. Why it took me 42 years to discover that I was born to write is a reflection on the environment I thrived in. I cannot blame my parents but I am a product of their upbringing. Let me be clear - I am grateful for how my parents raised me. Parents do the best they can with the tools they have. However, reflecting back on all the twists and turns in my life, I have realized that what they were pushing me towards never quite fit my personality and yet there is no regret in how my life has panned out.

I have lived 42 years (43 in August) doing what I thought my parents wanted me to do...
     -Education (Bachelor of Arts in Philosophy)
     -Stable job (I have worked full-time since I graduated from High School)
This seems to be the hope of every parent - that their children be productive members of society. And this is a worthy goal. If I were a parent, I would add two more components to what parents hope for their children. First, that they find what it is that makes them come alive and second, that they are happy. So often, we live to fulfill the hopes and dreams of our parents and then after achieving whatever it is they wanted, we are left unfulfilled. We get so busy doing the business of living, never sitting back to contemplate what it is that brings us to life. We hardly take the time to ponder our individual purpose for being on this planet at this time. We have all been given special gifts that are unique to us. My gift is writing. Not just writing but writing from the most genuine and authentic part of my soul.

I am middle-aged. *insert shock emoji* Yes. I just admitted it. I accept my timeline. And if I could go back in time; if I could reimagine my life, I would have pursued this 'writing thing' a long time ago. But it's never too late to do the thing that I want most to do.

I spoke to my 17-year old niece other day. I was probing her about her college choices since she will beginning her senior year in high school this Fall. She had two picked out in Hawai'i and one in New York City. If I remember correctly, the New York school is a performing arts college. I told her to chase the dream. Don't work on your Plan B by taking up something practical that you think might be easier to "find a job" after college. No. Chase the Dream! She is concerned with paying for school, which is why she selected the two Hawai'i colleges. This isn't the first time that I have told her to pursue the dream. I try to drill it into my nieces and nephews minds so that they find the thing that makes them the most happiest to do.

Not only would I have pursued writing at a younger age, I would have also taken up something in the arts. On my father's side, he and his siblings are all very creative people. They paint (both acrylic and oil) and are crafty. We all have "artsy eyes." My graphic design and my floral design has a definite source that comes from my father's side of the family. I have several cousins that are also artsy.

So what is the point of this post? What I hope you leave with is a sense of examining your life. Some of us will always be content with the 9 to 5 job and some of us will always be seeking for more control of your time to do the thing we love most. So what is it that you love most? And then if you do know what you love most, what are you going to do about it?

You Think You Pretty?

My friends and family say that I am "feeling myself" a little too much lately. According to them, my excessive selfies on my social media is the manifestation of me "feeling myself" a little too much. People text me or message me about it. Honestly, I don't really care what people think anymore. Does it hurt when my closest friends say I just want attention? Sure. But what they think of me is really none of my business and it has taken me all of my life to get to this point. I am no longer in the business of having to explain myself to anyone or to somehow feel bad for "feeling myself" a little too much. And honestly, I want to surround myself with people who are positive. I'm not saying NOT to tell me your honest true feelings but let it be constructive and not meant to tear me down. Certainly as I move toward living the dream, I will need people to help ground me and keep me authentic but as I said, let it be positive and constructive.

I was raised in a culture that demanded humility and absolutely NO outward expressions of vanity. I am 42 years old and I am still desperately trying to overcome the idea that honoring my beauty is bad. I am sure that many Samoan girls and women can identify with this. I grew up getting berated for trying to be "beautiful". My mother, her mother, her sisters would call me "cheeky" if I spent too much time in the mirror. The result was me being very uncomfortable with my femininity. It was easier to be a "tom boy" and mimic the actions of my older brother because he was almost honored for his brawn and his physical attributes. If he played flag football, I wanted to play flag football. He wanted Jordans, I wanted Jordans. Even my selection in clothing looked like his - very boyish and masculine. If he got a duffel bag for his football stuff, I wanted one instead of a purse. Eventually I embraced my femininity in my late teen years but the transformation was very awkward.

It was the day of my senior prom the first time I let my mother take a tweezer to my eyebrows. She had wanted to do it several times before but I absolutely would not let her because she had discouraged it so much in my childhood. And now that I was turning into a woman, at least physically, I just didn't trust that she wanted me to be beautiful because she didn't want that for me when I was a child. Well, that's not entirely true. It's not that she didn't want me to be beautiful. It's like she didn't want me to know that I was beautiful?!

My mother actually graduated from beauty school. She loved doing hair. I have pictures of me as a child with beautifully coiffed hair styles that were far too grown up for me. It's funny how these coming-of-age experiences stand out in my memory. When I think of the tweezing experience, I am immediately transported back to that moment in time. I about died from the pain of it and only allowed her to do one side. This is why you will NEVER see me post pictures from my senior prom because I only had one eyebrow shaped and plucked. The other side was my normal. I think I destroyed most of the pictures from that night anyway. Several months after the prom, after I had graduated from high school, I was sitting in a friend's home in Carson, California. She was my bestie at the time. We were talking while she plucked her eyebrows. It was at that very  moment that I decided to finish what my mother had started.

I have spent a good portion of my life trying to understand why I was discouraged from honoring my beauty. Even now, it feels funny to refer to myself as beautiful. My mother's insistence on modesty in the way I dressed and how I behaved is probably a reflection on her upbringing. Thus, it was the only way she knew how to mother me. As a grown woman now, I can understand some of her reasoning but I wish she would have fostered my self-esteem and help me to appreciate my reflection and my body. Instead, I was shamed into behaving a certain way. I will never understand the use of shame as a tool for control. It has such terrible side-effects that lasts long into adulthood. I know it sounds like I blame my mother entirely for the way I interpreted her mothering. That is not entirely true. She did the best she could with the tools she had.

Being teased by other kids had a large impact on my self esteem also. On so many occasions I remember getting dressed for school, feeling pretty as I walked out the door. As soon as I got to school, one particular boy would ALWAYS tease me about something and most times it had to do with the way I looked. And in typical bully fashion, he was the instigator in his group of friends. His friends would giggle and laugh at his remarks at my expense. I had no words to defend myself. Even now, my eyes well-up with tears thinking of how he made me feel. I think if I had the confidence to know that his words didn't matter, I would not have tried to disappear into the wall whenever he was around. Surely, I tried desperately to stay out of his way. I didn't have thick enough skin to deal with his put downs. Maybe things would have been different if the women in my family helped build me up instead of tear me down. Maybe I would have been stronger to not take to heart what the bully was saying about me. We will never know.

The old me would turn into a shrinking violet if someone was to tell me, "You think you pretty?" Really, the person asking the question is insinuating that I think I'm better than everyone else and that I am really not that pretty, else why would he or she ask the question. "Do you think you're pretty? Cuz you're not," that is the real meaning of the question. I know it sounds strange but in my 'hood, where I'm from, this is a typical reaction to a beautiful person. It reeks of insecurity and a touch of jealousy. I know very attractive people that have asked that question, "You think you pretty?"

The new me has no patience for anyone that wants to stifle my enthusiasm for my reflection. And if you ask me that question today, "You think you pretty?" My answer is emphatically, "Hell yeah! I do think I'm pretty. I'm gorgeous. I am beautiful." Really? That is so shallow. My physical appearance is not even the best part of me. And as I step out from behind the shadow of my childhood where being beautiful was somehow dirty, I refuse to let anyone tell me different. Hell Yeah, I think I'm pretty!!

Day 03 : My Parents

I feel like I talk about my parents all the time so if you've heard this story before -- I apologize in advance.

I'm home in Hawai'i mostly to put my mind at ease about the health condition of my mother. That is our relationship today -- me, the caregiver for my mother. Though she still gets around well enough, she is nowhere near how she used to be just five years ago. She's still around after five strokes, kicking cancer, a broken knee, and now she battles diabetes. I can't call it, why she's still around with all the health problems she suffers from, except maybe she has just an unbelievable will to live. I have resolved to not question what the cosmic forces have prepared for me. I know there are countless lessons to be learned by serving my mother. I have always known, as a daughter of a Samoan woman, that it was/is my duty to care for her as she ages. I watched her do it with her mother and her grandmother. Both women lived in our home. I'm so lucky to have known them.

My mother is quite the dancer. Her taualuga was a sight to behold.

Mom is 'afakasi' - half cast - Samoan/Swedish... what a combination.

My mother is from the village of Vaitoloa in Western Samoa. She left there as soon as she graduated from school. I believe she graduated from Pesega. She has never been back since. All she's talked about in the last couple of years is returning to Samoa... for good. I hear such great longing in her voice and wish I could take her back there not only to see the joy in her face but also to connect with the precious soil that she will always call home. I wish I could feel the breeze on my face, as she did when she was a little girl, while riding bareback on her horse. I wish I could be as daring as she, eating fruit bats and grubs, swinging from trees into the stream, and eating sea urchins fresh from the ocean.

My mother at the plantation where she loves to be... even now. Her knife in her arm, ready to siva!

My mother was the eldest girl of 17 siblings. My grandmother was widowed after child number 16. She bore two more after the passing of my grandfather. My grandmother, without any real options, was forced to take on work for American Mormon missionaries. This left my mother in charge of the entire brood. I can't imagine the gravity and the weight of having to care for all those children. This has shaped and formed her and consequently has influenced me as well. She truly is the embodiment of a scripture in the Old Testament:

Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her. Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all.

-Proverbs 31: 10, 27-29

My father. I don't quite know how my father learned to be a father because he did not grow up with his father. My grandfather died as a young man, leaving my grandmother with seven children to raise. Alone. I am in such awe of the great man he is. His tenderness and mercy upon me, as the former "Black Sheep" of the family, amazes me. My love for my father, rather the love my father has for me is probably best expressed in his actions.

My father with the Ukulele... way before I was even a glimmer in his eyes. He is Hawaiian/Chinese.

My father served in the Air Force during the Vietnam War.

I remember as a very little girl, I always wanted to hang out with my cousins. I'd pretend that I was a big girl and could sleep over my grandmothers house with all my cousins and not get homesick. Mom and Dad would leave me there thinking that all was well. Then, one by one, as the cousins drifted off to sleep, there I was alone and suddenly VERY homesick. My father at home, 30 minutes away, would turn around and come back for me whether it was midnight or three in the morning. That has always stayed with me. Even now, I think how tender his love for me must be. I equate that to the love of a Heavenly Father/ God. If he's anything like my mortal father then I am indeed in deep admiration and gratitude for the abundance of love in my life.

My father is an avid Martial Artist. He is very accomplished in Gojyu Karate. In his late 30's he took on Kung Fu. He has mastered them all.

My father and I. He is the greatest dad!

19 years old... in the midst of my rebellion from the values I was raised with. I remember being stuck in Waikiki. Drunk with drunk friends. My car broken down. Broke. No money. Nowhere to go. No way to return home. There weren't any buses running at 2am. One phone call home was all it took. My father was on the scene within an hour. I look back on that and think how terribly selfish I was then. I can't even imagine what my parents thought of me then. I have a perfect rememberance of how terrible I was. Yet my father... and my mother... never gave up on me. Sometimes I still identify with being the 'black sheep'. I'm still very radical in my thinking yet my father's love radiates energy like the sun. I am so blessed! So very lucky to have wonderful parents.

* * * * *
This post was very difficult for me to write. I have been in tears just realizing how much love they have for me. My feelings are so tender for my parents. It seems that our roles are changing as I take on the task of being the caregiver in their home. They are still going strong, still very much in love. I have such great examples of what marriage is and should be. I am humbled that they picked me to be their child in this life. Grateful that this bond, this relationship will last through eternity. I love you mom and dad!

That's Where I'm From

Photo Credit

This evening I attended a meeting with some of the girls (and a guy) that I grew up with. We met to plan out a fund raising event in honor of a friend, back home, who has battled cancer for the past couple of years. We sat in the room to discuss the execution of our Plate Lunch Sale. The brother of our friend was in attendance and gave us an update of her health. He said that the doctor said that she would only live for possibly another three weeks and that was two weeks ago.

Before I left Hawai'i, I did get a chance to see her. I even sang for her during one of her stays in the hospital. Her sweet spirit filled the room and her gigantic smile -- infectious. I thought about that time while her brother updated us and I could not fight back the tears. He said that his parents are still trying to come to terms with her dying so young yet she has made peace with it. What's sadder is that he has another sister that is in remission from the same cancer.

I really do come from a special place. Even though we're here in Utah, we are ever so mindful of our "sisters" back home. We are sticking together as we have in the past. I feel so fortunate to know that the friendship bonds we created so long ago, even if the only connection is that we're from the same strip of land on the North Shore of O'ahu, binds us together today.

I penned a poem in high school and a dear friend of mine turned it into a song:

It seems we've been friends
Since the beginning of time
There's no place I'd rather be than here with you
We're just like family but more than friends

Lord keep the memories and
Keep our love for each other alive
Life may take us to different places
But love will pull us back together

We have dreams to live and goals to achieve
Love that we'll find and chances we'll take
If anything shall change us
May it be for the better

Lord keep the memories and
Keep our love for each other alive
Life may take us to different places
But love will pull us back together

I can still here the tune in my head. It reminds me of the special place that I come from and all the special bonds that were created in high school; in elementary; in LIFE. No matter where I am in this world, I know that I am not just a face where I come from. People there know me. They know my accomplishments. They know my family. They know which part of the cemetery my family is buried. I am not a number in the crowd there. That's where I'm from. That's where I'd like to move back to one day soon.

Another tribute to Tasha and her battle with cancer, created by women from the same strip of land on the North Shore of O'ahu.... and that's where I'm from!

MY Political Views: Part I, The Birth

My father was born during the depression era. Hawai'i was still a Territory of The United States and not yet a state. This small period of time between Hawai'i being a kingdom, Hawai'i forced into submission to the United States, and Hawai'i becoming the 50th state, was crucial in effectively raising a generation of fully assimilated American citizens. Plainly stated, the United States needed a way to turn na kanaka** into colonized citizens of America. They needed to be "de-culturalized".

Upon statehood in 1959, my father became a naturalized citizen and when he turned 18, was required to register with the Selective Service. Somewhere in those first 18 years of life, my fathers need to BE Hawaiian or to have a connection with his ancestral culture, was effectively, unconsciously stripped from him. Of course, this is my opinion as an outsider looking in and I own that! Coming out of the Depression Era, the American Dream seemed an ideal and a worthy goal. This further separated my father from his ancestral roots. It made it easier to step away from preservation of culture and into a fully, assimilated American lifestyle with the promise of American prosperity.

When I was child, my father told me that he didn't give any of us ethnic names because he wanted us to "look good on paper". He wanted judgement of our accomplishments to be based on our work and not a negative pre-judgement based on our name. I can't argue with that. Parents do what they think is best for their children. Obviously, he is a product of his era.

In contrast, my mother is not an American. Even today, in her 60th year of life, she refuses to become a citizen of this country. She tells the story of how the Board of Health interviewed her prior to her marriage to my father. They implied that she was marrying my father to easily become a U.S. Citizen and gain all the rights and priviledges that come with it. She was offended and since the occasion has had no desire for citizenship. With pride, her allegiance belongs to Samoa! Also, in order to lay claim to her ancestral plot of land in Samoa, she must remain a citizen of her mother-country.

She is on the extreme opposite end of the spectrum in terms of culture. Her first language is NOT English. Her values, her morals, her standards are purely non-American. The protocol in which she subscribes to derives from her very Samoan upbringing. She has passed many of these ideals on to me. I am surprised, at times, at how similar I am to my mother.

This is part of the heritage from which I come from. I have two seperate ideals; that of my father - the de-culturalized Hawaiian and that of my mother - the staunch Samoan, and both worlds have crashed and formed a cataclysm called ME. Over the past 33 years of my life, my political views, the moral ethics I subscribe to continue to evolve but its foundation is based on the world my parents came up in.

**na kanaka: native people

School Daze

School Daze is a movie in my very TINY DVD collection. I'm not really a movie buff. I enjoy movies, to an extent.... but this post has NOTHING to do with the movie, School Daze but has EVERYTHING to do with my school daze(days).

I rarely look at what lifes lessons have taught me... really! I think, perhaps, that's what perpetuates my hopefulness in humanity. Which brings me to this post. What have I learned from social situations during my school days? The following are "rules" I've acquired....


1. Really GOOD friends will always be GOOD friends -- I still enjoy friendships that started way back in pre-school. Isn't that amazing? Some of my really good friends I've known since I could walk. And there are those that I met in 7th grade that are still a part of my life today. College buddies... hmmm... well... some of them are still around. Of course I've had to let some of these people go their own way and detach myself from their toxic ways... but it doesn't erase any memories we've created together.

2. People, in general, are always looking for the next best thing -- My school days had me deciding what weekend plans I would follow through on OR selecting a prom date... but always, in the back of my head, I was willing to skip out on set plans for the "next best thing". Adults that are always holding out for something better got their start during those school days. My folks didn't really let me skip out on things I committed myself to and I'm grateful because... I'm IN anything, come what may.

3. Rumors spread like wildfire, while the good stuff just simmers -- Sad but true, rumors speak to the most base parts of our human condition. Why is it easier to believe the negative stuff? There are a dozen stories I could tell about rumors that ran around back in high school... but I'm pretty sure EVERYBODY knows what I'm talking about.

4. Stupid boys more than likely grow out of it -- LOL... Back in high school, I went out with this dude.... to the prom. He was a star defensive lineman on the Football team... and I just thought he was a cutie. Well, sometimes he was a jerk. Stupid boy! Two years after we graduated from high school, he sent a letter to my mothers house. I don't know how he got my address. Basically, he apologized for being a jerk and also thanked me for all the good times and the memories. I was floored. He grew out of that immaturity that I was so sure he'd never do. LOL

5. Insecurities continue on UNLESS you get rid of them -- We all agree that adolescence is tough. I mean, during my school days I was insecure about EVERYTHING. I doubted myself all the time. Over the years... I've let go of all the self-doubt and rebuilt the person I am. Serious. I am sooooo not the woman I was 15 years ago... and I'm grateful. My opinion of self is above all else.

Okay... those were five neat little rules I've learned during my School Daze(days). What are some things you've learned?