A pox on you, Shasta Tiki Punch for being so irresistible to me. Consuming you just prior to bedtime is never a good idea, like a hallucinogen you produce some vivid dreams for me. Which led me to post this on my blog.
As a child, feeling that I was "not enough" was a constant. I didn't live on Homestead lands, I didn't have a Hawaiian first or last name, everyone had a Hawaiian middle name so that didn't count, I didn't have brown skin, light or otherwise. And even the fact that my parents didn't drink, and everyone else's did, was not exempt from the equation.
With my child mentality and understanding I failed to include in the equation, the fact that my kupuna spoke to me in our mother tongue. Going to kupuna Kalama's house and being taught oli, mo'olelo, hula, being shown different Hawaiian protocols, watching and helping her ohi and prepare la'au lapa'au, and participating in ancient traditions, and practices handed down in her family and mine. All of these things and more, absent from the equation that remained in the forefront of my mind whenever I was not with na kupuna.
As a teenager, a huge uncomfortable change occurred. Our family started attending religious services. My dad and older brother got baptized, and we were exuberant in our embracing of this new perception. A different reality. It started out great although it felt very foreign. Uncomfortable, at first, for me, spiritually. Then I started noticing things. I noticed what I termed "the herding". Discouraged from associating with others not deemed worthy by the measurements of the elders. Even if they were blood relatives. And yet the ones who were approved associates were engaging in activities that were definitely NOT approved, and intentionally overlooked. It was confusing.
The most shattering things though were the elders frowning upon my speaking Hawaiian, being told in no uncertain terms that hula kahiko, and chanting were NOT acceptable. Being questioned on what other "pagan practices" I engaged in and being told to stop. And now being judged as "less than" because I engaged in things they did not understand and that I could not fully articulate as a teenager. Sound familiar? Yeah, I call it the whitewash. The remnants of a former huge wave. Get it? Good. It was crushing, rage inducing, suffocating, choking, hurtful, frustrating, and it was CONSTANT. Every look given, every comment directed my way, every question posed to me as the pulled me aside, every frequent chastisement. Each time they were "just checking up on me" serving to fuel the choking overwhelming frustration. (BREATHE, Tina. BREATHE.)
It's interesting to note that for the majority of time spent in and around that religion, there were no Native Hawaiian elders. The ones in the higher positions were all white. Again, sound familiar? I thought so. AAAAAAANYWAYS.....
As an adult, all of these experiences have hammered home some facts. From my childhood, the truth that I realized and internalized is that there are no recipes, no formulas, no benchmarks to being Native Hawaiian. It is not dictated by ability, only by blood. It does not matter if you are unable to speak Hawaiian or if it's your first language, your "Hawaiian-ness" is dictated by genealogy. Period. Once we start making a grocery list of things you need in order to be Hawaiian, we diminish and disrespect our kupuna and ourselves. This truth has been freeing, empowering and joyous for me. It removed the chip on my shoulder and replaced it with responsibility.
The truth from my teenage years is one of forgiveness which I struggle with. Daily. Constantly. And the larger truth of kuleana, which is what compels me to be active and engaged in our community, sharing what I can each time I'm able. It drives my actions daily which helps to provide balance.
But I am forever thankful for the bonds forged during that difficult teenage time, with a small handful of people without whom I would have gone stark raving mad. They made the uncomfortable bearable. They made the confusion less suffocating. Being with them tempered the rage left unchecked, would have landed me in serious trouble. Even if they didn't fully realize it at the time. Or even now. My eternal thanks, gratitude and deepest aloha for Uilani Goodhue-Mahiai, Melinda Borge, David and Aaron Kim, Tishri, Keola and Clifford Keli'ikoa, and Cherylee Koko.
This post is the result of a dream of remembrance that caused a morning of reflection. It is what it is, and what it is, is mine.
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