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.