Game Two

The ritual of getting a soccer (from now on referred to as football) match started is lost on me. I’ve not watched enough games. The players walk out, solid, tough, almost a glazed look in their eye as they prepare to play for their entire country.

At the World Cup, each player is paired with a young, I assume, South African child. Why? In honor of the host country? Looks odd, these grown men standing with a child they barely know. Although it will be the greatest experience the children will remember.

(Above, my brother Christopher (left) playing high school 'soccer' in 2002.)

In the packed stands, camera flashes light the darkness seemingly in unison; there are so many taking pictures all the time, when one stops, another a few feet away goes off as if to replace it. None of these people know the other, unified simply by the love of a sport and, lets face it, money (who can afford tickets to the World Cup AND a trip to South Africa?).

It may seem like I only become a soccer fan every four years, like other Americans only like gymnastics at the Olympics. Part of this is due to lack of opportunity – lately, with no TV and no time to look up when matches are, much less where I can find them again online, I do not watch live football matches. But truly – since I was a little girl, seeing that striped green pitch, littered with cute but battered players wearing lucky headbands and shoes, and hearing in the crowd a mix of several incoherent battle chants – my heart soars. Those who can’t play, watch; those who can’t watch, dream. I enjoy having a sport where I can yell at the screen because I know what I’m watching - too much confusion for me in American football.

Soldiering On

Writing for a living makes it difficult for me to write in my spare time. I think that makes me a terrible writer, really I shouldn’t even be calling myself one. But once I get off work, answering emails, phone calls, Googling my research (just to start!), the last thing I want to do is keep writing. So I’ve been neglectful. And of course, now that I’m not writing, this has become a way to keep myself from going crazy.

I’ve been off work for five weeks, away from Molokai and my friends for four. Five weeks! Except one summer in college, when I worked at a Younkers, I have never had five weeks off my kind of work. Where I’m studying, writing, doing something with my mind. And my mind has turned to mush. No stimulation except TV – the worst kind – and sporadic conversations with my mom or brother.

Besides not working, it’s been weird being home. Driving makes me crazy. I wouldn’t call it road rage, more like justifiable road disbelief. There are simply too many people out there. Walmart is the worst, everyone weaving in and out of aisles that are no longer in straight rows, and I don’t know where anything is anymore. I was at a Quizno’s with my mom today for lunch, and I was overwhelmed. So many choices, and then once you make your decision and order, they still double check everything! Your sandwich comes with tomatoes and mushrooms, would you like tomatoes and mushrooms? …Yes! If I didn’t, I either wouldn’t have ordered the sandwich or have told you, no tomatoes or mushrooms! I can’t tell whether its fear of lawsuits (someone orders peanut butter and jelly, but gasp! are allergic to peanuts), or knowing their customer is probably stupid and has to double check their order for them. I did used to work in food service, so it’s probably the latter.

I miss the beach, looking up at the mountains as I walk down the main street, walking in a grocery store and saying hi to people. I miss being in on the action – when I read my paper and I don’t know what’s going on. I’m afraid I won’t be able to get back in the groove right away. I miss my friends, and am so excited if it works out to move in with one of them (cottage = vastly superior to the Juicy Mango).

For now, I must embrace my friends here and my family. That’s what I’m here for, and that’s all I have. I will miss them too, once I leave. I must continue to do something nice for my mom everyday, be patient with my stepmother, and not be so lazy with my friends.

Florence and the Machine

It has been far too long! November as my last post...so much has happened. In my last post, I detailed my first trip to Kalaupapa. I have only been down once more since, but considerably improved my time and enjoyed myself much more. Oh! And one of the uncle/patients I met has been arrested on meth charges! Like I said...too much has happened.

I will try to sum this up as best I can. As the details gets fuzzier, I don't want to forget any of my amazing adventures/experiences/heartbreaks. Heartbreaks that have nothing to do with boys.

Since November, I have experienced a Hawaiian Christmas; my friend became ghastly ill; saw the most beautiful waterfall and swam beneath its icy embrace; learned a kane hula; gotten a tattoo; interviewed a Grammy winner and the Catholic Bishop of Hawaii; coached a swim team; and slept on a white sandy beach, among many, many other things.

Most of these things, thankfully, I am able to experience because of my job. A job that I love. A job that I have to leave soon. While I am constantly torn – about guys, clothes, friends, politics – I am notorious for fearing to leave a place. Thinking back to my first week here, and those blog entries, I cannot believe how much I have grown. This is a place that both welcomes and is suspicious of outsiders – and I find it to be my greatest accomplishment that when I walk into a building, people know who I am, say Aloha! and offer every thought of theirs under the sun.

This is a place that is cold in upcountry, but is the freshest air I’ve ever smelled. Molokai is a place of too many drinks, not enough pupus, short of talk story time and a never-ending Monday-night dinner at Hotel. It is a place I cherish for what I have been lucky enough to learn – how generous people can be (thanks again for the purse Kanoe!), what `ohana really means, what money really means, how the best night you can spent doesn’t cost a penny, except you need a really good truck to access it.

I think what I will miss most will be the stars. Nowhere else I have every traveled, however extensive or puny it is – depending on the person – has given me the sky the way Molokai has. The moon is brighter than any florescent light, the stars exposing constellations I have never seen to my naked eye, and the truth of how extensive this universe is is mind-boggling. I often have physics discussions with my brother, and I have a friend who is an astronomy graduate student, but nothing can teach me as much as just staring at the sky on a nearly-empty beach, or walking home from Paddlers. Light pollution will be my downfall in the future.

So why am I leaving? If I didn’t have a compelling reason, I would say sorry parents! The universe wants me here. Which I still feel it does – these days I’m putting a lot of faith in the universe and its instincts. But alas, I have a cool wedding/family reunion to attend, and my mom is having knee surgery, calling back her free nurse.

So I will willingly fly home to take care of my `ohana – because here that is the most important thing. I can’t take care of the `ohana I’ve built here while my flesh and blood has asked me to return. But that doesn’t mean I can’t come back…I’ll leave that up to the universe.

However, I am giving it a nudge. I’m stopping in Seattle, Washington for a few days before returning to the Quad-Cities, to check out jobs and the feel of the city. You know, it’s only an average $300 flight back to Hawaii from there…

More soon my dear friends.

Jazzy jazz jazz -- Allen Toussaint

I apologize, I have not written in a while. Although this is pretty much for myself :p
Been quite busy at work - which I love. I'm one of those people who need to be busy constantly. It keeps me in routine and organized, which equals out to me being productive. That month and a half I didn't have a job? Lounged around at home all day, in my pjs, drinking coffee and watching Law and Order: SVU. Man, was I a steal.

The biggest highlight of my time here in Molokai so far was being able to visit Kalaupapa. At the bottom of 1700-feet-high sea cliffs (the highest in the world) is a small parcel of land that looks like a leaf (indeed, Kalaupapa means flat leaf) that juts out into the ocean. It is one of the most isolated places in the world, and it's where they quarantined the victims of Hansen's disease (old-school: leprosy) from 1866 to 1969. How they still were able to essentially kidnap people and leave them on that 'natural prison' as the Department of Health called it a full 15 years after a cure for leprosy was found is beyond me. Anyway, Kalaupapa is really what brought me to Molokai. I've been spending the last six weeks (has it been that long?) researching the life of Father Damien, now Saint Damien, the priest who voluntarily went to assist the exiles from 1873 until his death in 1889. So I of course have to make it down to the very place I owe my job to.

For all it's terrible history, the treachery of the Board of Health and the utter contempt these innocent victims of disease had to face, the peninsula is the most tranquil place I've ever been. I was unable to make it to the east side, where Damien lived and worked for most of his life in Kalawao, but the only 'town' now, also called Kalaupapa, has more churches than stop signs (take a page from my colleague Dan) and the definition of the Aloha spirit. We were down there to interview some of the patients for our stories -- something that I cannot express into words how amazing it was to witness. Uncle Norbert Palea was taken from his mother at age six, put on a plane with a dozen or so other kids, he being the youngest, everybody crying. He still lives in Kalaupapa, the only home he's ever known, but there is no bitterness. Not in his face, his voice, his stories. He told us of his life, and his experiences visiting Belgium and Rome for Father Damien's canonization last month, with surprising liberation. It's known that the patients are very private - it's incredibly difficult to get to Kalaupapa, and you need permission from either the Department of Health or a patient to be able to visit, and on the tours it's not as if you get to meet or talk with the patients. But after talking with Uncle Norbert and Uncle Boogie, it seems the administartion is more concerned for their privacy, and as they get on in their age (Uncle Norbert is the youngest at 68), they seem to want to share their stories. Many have, notably the amazing social historian Anwei Law who spent 20-odd years talking to as many patients as possible, as well as some patients writing their own memoirs. To be a part of that legacy, even to witness it, makes me so grateful, respectful and flabbergastedI somehow was one of the few.

From the top, amazing.
From the bottom, not so much. Three-and-a-half miles have never been so excruciating before. You think on the way down, wow this is going to be hard on the way up. You start up, knowing just how long it is, how steep the path is, how uneven the steps are (I have very short legs!). But, it's amazing the simplicity that goes through your head. You are constantly going up! There is no break! It's all up, for two hours, being passed by someone you had an hour's head start on!
And I'm sad to say, I'm afraid to do it again! Kalaupapa is a wonderful place, for personal and of course professional reasons. But like the dentist, it's something I dread that I know I have to face in the future, at least once more. You know that clip of Chris Legh in the 1997 Ironman, when he collapsed? I hope it's not disrespectful, but I feel like I knew a bit of what he felt like!

Overall, being able to visit one of the most isolated settlements in the world, on one of the more isolated islands in Hawaii, one of the most isolated archipelagos in the world - I'm starting to feel surprisingly at home.

Pandora mixes a great selection (Ingrid Michaelson)

A typical Friday night has turned into Monday night for me.
I'm sitting in my room, browsing internet shit, alone. And I am conflicted.

By typical, I mean in the past I have the tendency to stay in rather than go out. Going out entails first, a shower, and second, motivation. Its not that I don't like going out, and spending time with people. Its simply an unfortunate fact that I can talk myself into staying in to do some boring activity, like Photoshop, 'catch up' on reading, rearranging my room, and ... this. All projects that need to be done -- but do they need to on a Friday night?

This 'Friday' night (which I'm writing on a Monday because in my new schedule, Mondays and Tuesdays are my days off) was after a great day at the beach. After work, Kodi, Dan and I went to a few beaches, where they surfed and I snorkled/napped.
We drove back, joking and listening to Hawaiian radio, and thought about watching a movie, our usual ritual. A few hours into to the evening, I had eaten my dinner and was getting bored. Kodi (and possibly Dan, I don't know where he is) had decided to drink some beer and talk story (chill out) with neighbor friends. They also decided to do a certain illegal, but enjoyable, baked activity.

This is my issue -- I had decided a while ago to forgo any similar activity. I don't especially enjoy it and the majority of people I have participated with are plain boring afterwards. Not an activity I decided to continue. Also, if I am not partaking, it's a boring experience for me then.

So I turned down the invitation to join. But this is the time to make friends! To enjoy the local's color, talk story, be friendly.
I truly did not want to seem rude. I even called my self a 'square' when I told Kodi I didn't want to join because of that.
Hopefully this does not turn into a pattern. I can't rely on Catherine to hang out with in the evening, or the other roomies -- I must go make my own friends. Put my fear aside (because, yes, I am actually quite self-deprecating and shy) and take initiative! Call over for a dinner, or drive over for a movie. I am not the greatest person to hang out with -- if I'm by myself. I'm boring myself.

Reggae is big here

I'm slowly starting to blend in. And yes, I mean physically. After another afternoon at the beach, I'm more of a light toast color and less of an ivory. I wander around town, in my now uncomfortable plastic flip-flops (or slippers), and I don't feel like I stick out. However, even if or when I did, the people here are so gosh-darn friendly it's hard to feel out of place. Except me, the 'city-slicker,' who at first was suspicious of so much good will. You want to know where I live, you say? Why? So you can sneak up on me as I get out of the shower? No? You just want to drop off a box of mangos? Well...thank you. I can make smoothies from them, you say? And so on...
I never really lived in a small town, so I never got the hang of walking into a bank and being greeted personally. Or walking into the grocery store, and being greeted by...my bank teller? Or in that same grocery store being approached by the 10-year-old girl you met earlier while covering a story at the elementary school. Kaunakakai is literally one square block of shops, eateries, two gas stations, two groceries, and plenty of places to get ice cream. And it's just one person after another who know your name, making you feel unbelievable guilty you still can't remember theirs.
And I gotta say...I'm getting the hang of it! Not looking at your feet while you walk, not even having your headphones in! Waving at people across the street, having a five-minute conversation with total strangers while waiting in line at the post office. It's only been six days, and while I don't feel like I've been here longer than that quite yet, everyone around me certainly does!
And another thing...I have never been treated with more respect as a journalist! As soon as people hear I'm the new Dispatch intern, they gush and say, 'they just get the nicest people to work there!' Of course I still get the same PR suggestions and 'oh, you should really write about my shop!' But everyone is so genuinely nice here, it's too hard not to smile and say 'I'll ask my editor.'
So, here I am, drinking some of the freshest coffee I'll ever have, swimming in secluded lagoon-type beaches (except some older male nudity - that's another story), walking in sunshine everyday, and being surrounded by the most agreeable people. I can deal with this :)

Only I would be listening to BBC Radio Asian network, playing bhangra, in Hawaii.

I've learned a lot about myself and my assumptions in the past few days. First, I'm a brave little chicken. Second, no matter how much research you do, you will inevitably be wrong. Third, small town life isn't what it seems.

To begin, I want to stress that this is still an amazing opportunity. It's just taking me a little longer to adjust. Working for a newspaper, you have to know the community. Moving to a community and reporting on it the following day is difficult to say the least. I don't know the people, I don't know half the words they say, I don't know my way around. The other interns, and the managing editor (a former intern) are incredibly supportive and friendly, but they seem to have forgotten what is was like to start out. Or maybe there just is nothing else to say besides 'you'll get used to it.' Or maybe I'm just a big baby. The worst part is, I'm homesick. I didn't expect that. It took four years and several thousand miles to realize how much my family means to me. Not being familiar with my surroundings is something I can get used to; I'll learn how to navigate this small island and smaller towns. However, I'm worried I'm going to constantly compare my life now with my life then.
Positives. The house is quaint. It's not the spider invested, primitive dwelling I was picturing after repeatedly being told it's 'rustic.' My room is nice enough, a bit hot with only a small fan, but I get internet and privacy. My other colleagues are lovely: Kanoe (ka-noi) is sweet and punky at the same time, she knows how to laugh; Todd isn't in much, but is easy to work with and his wife would win the perkiest person in the world award; my roommates, Kodi, Catherine and Dan are friendly, generous and patient. They're fun to hang out with, at the only bar on the island and on the beach, but professional when it comes to worktime.

My second point refers to my research on Hawaii. I know most of the topics of conversation for Molokai by reading past issues of the Dispatch, but I was taken aback by all the other research. I got many thing wrong. It's true this has the most Hawaiian population of the islands, but the other half are from everywhere. I had assumed most were expats, mainlanders and other nationalities bumming around because of the laid-back island vibe. But most of these people moved for jobs, or because of a connection making it easier to open a store. Catherine's boyfriend, Clayton, is a very nice guy who's been living here for several months after he got laid off in California. His parents already lived here, so he moved in with them and works odd construction jobs around the island. He's one of many younger people living on the island; I had assumed a rural island in a remote island chain would be mostly made up of baby boomers.
And Hawaiians don't hate white people. These are the most generous, friendly, unpretentious people you'll ever meet. Yeah, you'll get a grump, but you can't get rid of those.

My last point is this: when you watch a movie featuring small town life, or pass through a small town and decide to stop at that quaint antique store, stop and reevaluate before you decide to lay down some property at this little piece of heaven. Maybe I'm just a deviant. I'm really not sure I'm cut out for small town life. I like busy, I can do busy. On this island, I often feel like I'm wasting time when I don't have something to do, but no one else is concerned. I guess because I don't have any other friends, when I rely on my roommates I follow their schedule. And I've been more bored than I wanted. Even today at the beach, because the waves were too big I couldn't go in that much, after about an hour I was bored. Who does that?

More positives: the beach is beautiful, and you will nap while you're there. Ice cream is plentiful here. My work is challenging in very different ways; I still have my skills as a reporter, but starting over in what feels like a different country takes much work. My work is interesting: I've decided I may like the challenges if I look at it like an anthropological case. The culture here is so intricate and ancient, but if you show the slightest interest, they will smile and tell you everything.
Just keep thinking positive. Don't get mad at me for complaining while in Hawaii, just think positive thoughts for me.