A Fish in the Sea

how it goes...

2012-01-24T22:58:00.000-08:00

i think of you everyday

on a good day, I smile and wave
i say hello
me here; you somewhere out there
i feel you with me
and i ask you to guide me

i laugh at funny things with you
i see rainbows and beauty
i feel connected to you and it feels so good
so good it almost hides the pain
that's a pretty good day.

on a bad day
i wake up hating life for taking you away
i don't want to connect with any ethereal part of you
i just want you back.
i just want to deny that you've left.
i want to fight that you're gone.

Travel blog

2011-09-11T08:06:00.000-07:00

I'll be keeping my travel journal here. Please feel free to follow it :)

Pre Travel- restless nights

2011-08-17T11:00:00.000-07:00

In less than a month, we'll be leaving on our trip. I feel like there's a giant clock counting down and I worry that I won't be able to get everything done in time.

When I was a child, I would love to spin in circles, as many and as fast as I could, then come to a sudden stop and feel that dizzy off balanced feeling, as I tried to stable myself and wait for the world to catch up with me. As an adult, I have a tendency to dizzy myself with thoughts. They spin and spin, only they rarely stop, and thus, I'm left with sleepless nights.

There is a fear that seizes me in moments when I stop the spinning and let my emotions catch up. It makes me want to smile. It makes me want to cry. It makes me want to seek cover. It makes me want to jump up and down and clap my hands. Sara reminds me that this fear is a good thing. It's what we feel the night before the first day of school. It's what we feel before dropping in on a big wave. Before a race, or a cliff jump. As we fall in love... in all the big things in life.

In the still of the night, I try to breathe deeply, slowly. My mind and my body run in opposite directions. One wants to stay on, the other wants to turn off. I toss and turn and try my best to sink into that quiet energy that lulls me to sleep. It doesn't work, and so I toss and turn some more. And as I do, Erik stirs awake and asks "what's wrong?"; his voice tired and and heavy. I reply- "I'm scared." "Of what?" he mumbles and I can hear him trying to be as patient as possible, though frustration leaks through his voice. Tonight I say "I don't speak Spanish." He pulls me in closer and hugs me tight- "go to sleep" he begs. Feeling guilty for waking him, this night and all the other nights before I try my best to stay quiet and still as I wait for my nerves to calm down and sleep to come.

In the morning I am tired and dreading the day ahead. Erik greets my rising with a kiss, and tells me his solutions to my fear. This morning's solution includes bringing a small 7 inch laptop with us with Rosetta Stone on it, so I can learn on the road. The day before, I was worried about baggage, no- not my emotional baggage, the actual bags we'll be taking. That day I found an email with a bunch of links to backpacks. Though I don't want to push him too hard with my insomniac neurosis, I have to say, I love that he does this. He always tries to fix things for me. He feels my fears and tries to qualm them.

The nights that are hardest on him are the nights when I say "I don't know what I'm scared of, I'm just scared." That gives him nothing to work with. Sometimes on those nights, he'll playfully wrap his arms around my neck and pretend to strangle me.

Moments in time, in the rain

2011-05-03T11:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday it stormed. Big time. Driving was scary. God was crying, having a massive bowling match and someone up there was taking pictures.

As I left my parking garage from work, heater blasting, soaked to the bone, because I still have it in me that I just don’t need an umbrella, I saw an Asian couple donned in wedding attire at the corner of Hawaii Theater. It was 7:08 pm, and the lightning and rain flashing and pouring down reminded me of something out of a movie. My driving slowed to a crawl and I stared slack jawed, wishing I had a camera because it was just so pretty and poetic in the way that contrasts often are.

I remember once seeing a photo of a young girl holding a flower in the forefront, behind her, the chaos from a plane crash. There was something haunting about it, something appealing, and something distasteful and visceral. I stood there for a good half an hour entranced, eyes going back and forth from her eyes and the wreckage behind her. Till this day, I still don’t know exactly what I felt about it, but I remember it clearly a decade later.

As I drove past this couple I yearned for my camera, and sent out a silent wish their way. I hoped they were the type of couple that would find fun and humor in their predicament; that there would be just as much beauty in their moment, as I was observing from my window view. Then I turned to my right, and saw two photographers calling out directions from across the street, and the feel of the whole scene changed. The mysterious allure faded, and after a split second of reconciling that I wasn't observing an authentic moment, I quickly shifted to feeling stoked for the artists across the street. My wishes went their way- that they would get their shot… and that I would see it someday in the future... and know.

i will say

2011-04-28T10:52:00.000-07:00

that in our finest moments
we were beautiful

like a belly laugh
or the perfect satisfying meal

like a lightning storm
in the middle of summer

or the tears one sheds when life is hard
and the way hearts can break over and over again

or maybe, just as we were

two pairs of mischievous eyes
staring back at one another
dancing with excitement
for all that life could be

Untold stories

2011-04-28T01:33:00.000-07:00

Perhaps one day I'll tell the story of the guy who came into my shop with a heart in his pocket. As I rang him up for a bottle of one of my favored Spanish reds I saw it's outline through the cloth of his pale buttoned up shirt and I couldn't hold back my curiosity. I pressed for details, asking him to quite literally place his heart on the table.

And he did. He displayed the paper heart with note attached and gave me the gift of a small but beautiful glimpse into his life.

It was a story that made me smile. At love. Specifically and uniquely his.

Tickled, I quickly went outside to share the story with friends. But my timing was off and the interest was not there. Though, to be honest, even more than that, I think it was because I was meant to savor the encounter alone. Sometimes a sacred thing gets diminished by sharing. Growing up in Hawaii and having my secret playgrounds become not so secret, I know this all too well. Conversely, sometimes something becomes more sacred when shared with others...but in this case it became evident that this was meant for me to keep.

After all, there may have been something lost in it's telling. Perhaps I wouldn't have done it justice, or it wouldn't have been well received in all of it's not so glorious glory. Because really, it was just a simple story... there were no lives saved in it's making, no grand conquests of triumph over tragedy, no earth shattering realizations. It was fluff. Like that lone cloud that sits in the sky, just a wisp in the air, not even capable of rain, and hardly big enough to take shape.

But sometimes fluff is that perfect distraction to direct your gaze up toward the heavens. To take in the expansiveness of the big blue sky that lies behind it.

And perhaps it is a story I will not tell. Perhaps I will let it be what it was- a passing moment. A flash of beauty. A glimpse within. For just as there is value in the telling, there is also a quiet beauty in all that goes unsaid.

the shelf

2011-04-19T13:17:00.000-07:00

I went down to the ocean to surf today but I sat at the top of Cliffs and watched the waves go from pretty good to not so good in a matter of 15 min. I just sat there staring. Unsure of what I wanted to do.

Feeling a sense of defeat for not being able to fully motivate myself, I decided not to go and headed back home.

Today I feel broken. Splintered. Or maybe shattered. Like the glass door of the beer fridge at Oliver, that I want to replace but am told not to, as it continues to work just fine. On slow nights at the wine shop I spend my nights staring at it. I remember the night it was broken. I saw it shatter, and yet remain intact because of the two walls of tempered safety glass on each side. But it remains broken on the inside and for all the world to see. A pretty mosaic. A translucent jagged puzzle. People who come into the shop often share that it looks so cool that way, and I always smile and nod, but the truth is, deep down inside I keep wondering if one day soon, it’s all going to fall apart. I'm anticipating the day when I will have to clean it up.

Like the glass, my type of broken is jagged and can cut, but it's not quite so pretty. I have no passerbys stopping to oooh and ahhh. It's just there. Raw emotions tangled up inside of me not knowing their way out.

An adolescent girl is haunting me. She’s not a ghost, but could easily become one if her depression continues to worsen, and her will to live keeps slipping.

She’s been through so much and my heart overflows with pain for her sorrows. Overflows with rage for the injustice and unfairness that’s fallen and continues to fall upon her. And of course there is fear too. A vat full of it, because I am tasked with helping her step away from her hopelessness and into a better place.

I don’t get to have these feelings at work. They go on an imaginary shelf that sits behind my heart. She talks, I listen. My feelings come up and I automatically shelve them so I can be there for her. So I can be calm enough to take in all that she doles out, and so that I can have enough compassion to house all of her feelings, in hopes that maybe, just maybe, that will help. I shelve everything I feel so that I can listen openly while ignoring the urge to scream. I shelve everything, so there is enough quietness so that maybe, just maybe the right words will come. So that maybe healing will happen.

At the end of yesterday, I just don’t know. I cringe at my smallness. At how limited an hour a week is. What dent will that make? What difference? I just don't know...

And today... the emotions that I put on the shelf topple forward.

Surfing is not the answer.

But perhaps a hike is…a long arduous hike, in which I put one foot in front of the other, to get from here to there. To look. To breathe. To take in many moments of infinite appreciation and disdain for the fact that life is so cruel and so beautiful all at the same time.

pre travel continued...

2011-04-19T10:37:00.000-07:00

I keep thinking about that big open blue sky we'll see as we're traveling from Hawaii to Bolivia. My mouth salivates with delicious anticipation.

When I was in the midst of completing my 30 before 30 list, it was all I could talk about for the 6 month period. I was focused, excited and driven. But over time, I also became a little self conscious that I had become a 30 before 30 list talking machine and that I would soon exhaust everyone around me… that someone would put a pillow over my head to drown out the noise. But I couldn’t stop. I was in obsessed mode.

Now I’ve got travel on my mind and it seems to be all I can think and talk about. It is always there, in my thoughts, permeating through every part of my life. I drive my car, and think about the busses we’ll be catching. I eat food and start to wonder what my favorite meals will be. I look at the sky and wonder how different it will look way over there.

But more than that, it’s my hopes, my fears, and everything that must be done that cycle through my mind at high speed. It feels like there is so much to do and know before we actually leave. How do people actually do this? I’ve been reading blogs from other travelers, but haven’t found the little details about the lead up. The neurosis involved.

My stuff…

As of now, all 3 jobs of mine have been alerted of my intended leave. I feel so incredibly lucky to have such great supportive employers. I can’t really believe my luck and feel a great sense of gratitude that almost makes me teary eyed when I really allow myself to sit with it. It also makes me feel incredibly guilty, but I try just to focus on how grateful I am. Each job will allow me to return and pick up work again. I don’t need to resign and reapply; I just get back and go back to work. How lucky is that?

I’m not sure of what to do with our place. We’re only gone for 3 months… which makes it hard. It’s not financially worth it to pay rent for the 3 months we’re gone. While Erik and I have found a nice home in this place, we’re also not extremely attached to it. But leaving and coming back essentially homeless does present its problems. We might be able to couch surf for a week or so with friends, but being a burden is not a comfortable thing for me, and the idea of scrambling to find a new place scares me. We will be desperate and being desperate has never fared well for me.

The idea of having that safety net of a home to return to is comforting. The idea of getting rid of so much of our belongings and simplifying, and then starting anew is refreshing. It’s hard to know which choice will be the right one.

I’ve been putting off calling my landlord to alert her of our upcoming trip because I just don’t know what to tell her and I just don’t know what we want…

And there's more... but I've rambled enough for today.

pre travel

2011-04-13T10:53:00.000-07:00

I have been staring at pictures of lands unknown. I have become a peeping Tom into the great big world out there. Staring into the windows of other people’s captured moments. There is a quiet excitement to the process.

As I plan this trip, my excitement grows, along with a tremor of vulnerability. I can’t quite explain it, but there is a squiggle (yes, a squiggle) of emotion that moves somewhere between my gut and the center of my heart. It makes me feel small; like an ant, peering up towards this world, so big and most of it so unknown to me. It makes me feel emotional. As if I could laugh and cry at the exact same moment. It makes me catch my breath and get quiet.

I don’t understand how I am supposed to live my life. It’s a question that I ponder frequently and never fully arrive to an answer for. I know the fundamentals… I live it with love, integrity, respect, joy and adventure. And compassion. And more. But what about the rest?

The idea of travel itches something in me. This idea that I could explode into a thousand particles across the plain of the great big world and all would be okay. That itch, however, then stirs something else up. Is it doubt? Is it reality? Is it???? I don’t quite know… It’s this sense of limitation. I can’t travel forever. I don’t have the money or resources for it. I can’t travel forever. What about my work? I love my work. I can’t travel forever. Just… because.

But I want to.

Staring at photos of Bolivia (this is where we’re thinking we’ll start), I can’t help but want to be gone forever. Or at least a really really long time.

3 months is starting to feel much too short.

Click this link for photos of Salar De Uyuni- http://www.atlantisbolivia.org/tunupagallery.htm A place I can't, can't, can't wait to see. We're going in the dry season so we might not see the water covering it, as in these pics, but I am keeping my fingers crossed and praying for some rain.

Our current plan. Bolivia-Peru-Ecuador-Columbia-Venezuela.

i wish to be

2011-03-24T07:06:00.000-07:00

as peaceful as the moss
that lays itself against the forest floor and walls

i wish to be
as silent as the moon
that shines brightly in the dark night

i wish to be

ok

i wish to be
a strong tree
standing tall against time.

Another birthday...

2011-03-14T10:34:00.000-07:00

They say the world was born in fire... my 32nd birthday was born in water. Salty water. That consisted of sweat, tears and ocean goodness.

Another year passes and I am even more blessed than ever.

Changes

2011-03-13T04:07:00.001-07:00

Things are different now,

she said. And the words hung there

like lead in the air

Mysteries

2011-01-06T10:01:00.000-08:00

There. Nestled on the the mountainside lies a rock with "Justin Rutka, 1942" carved into it. I don't know who Justin Rutka is, or what it was he was doing in 1942, but as I attempted to hike the Koko Head ridgeline I found myself intrigued enough to jump off the path, trudge over the brush, and climb in for closer look.

After a few quick camera shots I let my fingers trace the carving- about one inch deep and cool to the touch despite sitting in the the glaring sun. My curiosity grew. What tool did the carver use? Was it Justin Rutka himself, or someone else? Why the date? Why this spot? Did the sun shine brilliantly like today? Or was the carver spared with a cloud cover and cool trades? Did they hum or sing a little song as they set about their task?

It's been a week since the hike, and I still find myself intrigued and curious about this Justin Rutka fellow...

This isn't the first time I've been compelled by the random and simple mysteries of life.

My first memory, though I'm sure there were many before this, was when I was about 8yrs old. One day, on the simple playground of Pukalani Elementary School, kids lined up against the chain link fence staring at an old wooden red house that sat on top the hill of what is now the Kua Aina subdivision. Before it was a sea of family homes on subdivided lots, it was just a grassy knoll where a rustic forgotten house stood all alone. I remember catching wind of the stirring energy, and joining up to where my peers stood staring. I asked what was going on, and was informed that the house was haunted, and several of the kids had caught glimpse of the ghost that lived there.

I'm not sure how long after, but eventually, Kimi, our friend Coral and I found our way to the abandoned house and ventured through. The spooky fear we initially felt peaked as we wondered through the empty rooms making our way across the creaky, and in some places, missing floorboards. My memory eludes me, and I can't quite recall what is real or what I've added and embellished to it over time, however, the image of old furniture and the remnants of a once lived in home drift foggily through my mind.

As like so many sensationalized things in life, the hype at school faded in about a week and with it so did the excitement and intrigue. Also when Coral's parents got wind of our adventure, they banned us from going back due to fear that we might fall through the floor or hurt ourselves in some other way. They also explained to us in that dull adult way that lacks mysticism that it was nothing more than a forgotten structure, no ghosts, no hoopla. And so, the mystery faded. However, every now and then I remember that house from a the vantage point of an 8 yr old child peering through the school's chain link fence, and I still picture it sitting perfectly there on that stark hill. When I conjure up this image, I often catch just the slightest glimpse a middle aged motherly ghost who winks and smiles back at me.

Another lackluster but at the time completely compelling mystery was the Old Maui High School, located above Ho`okipa. It was rumored to be haunted, and as a high schooler, there were more than a few nights that my friends and I dared each other to leave the safety of the car and to brave the old abandoned school. We usually ended up huddled together creeping our way toward the entrance, perhaps a bit further in before becoming frightened and fleeing, often screaming the whole way our way back to the car. We were certain we could feel the spirits that inhabited the area.

I loved the Old Maui High School and while I appreciate the restoration that's currently being done to it, I loved it most as how it was in those high school days. In the light of the day, I would walk through the corridors and classrooms and let my eyes take in the havoc of abandonment and nature's invasion. With it's over turned desks and chairs, banyan roots and other plants growing over and throughout, along with broken glass and graffiti, I found it dreary and beautiful. I became obsessed with the mystery of why it had been left in such a way, and was convinced that the answer must be something deep seeded and hidden. I remember researching archives at the library, and coming up with no other answer than something about a water line break and the fact that it was too small to function as a high school. At the time I was convinced there was more to the story, but the answers never revealed themselves.

As time goes on and I get older and lose my mysticism, life's little mysteries become dulled. An abandoned old shack or institution is met with a practical hypothesis... gone are the days of haunted houses. I now think up the water line break or the size factor myself... I don't see glimpses of the ghosts that inhabit them, nor do I find myself scared and running back to my car.

But every now and then, the curious child that loves a good mystery peaks out, and I find myself compelled all over again.

Thank you Justin Rutka 1942...

Mary Oliver

2010-12-05T21:45:00.000-08:00

Is another one of my favorite poets. I love her love for nature and how her poetry draws me in quietly, making me lean forward with each stanza read, until I am absorbed into her words.

In her poem "When Death Comes" she wrote- "I want to say: all my life, I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.” I wish I came up with that quote myself. But since I didn't, I will continue to let it inspire me and remind me about the life I want to live.

This poem is about her affinity for the sun. An affinity I share with her, but have never been able to put in such words.

The Sun

Have you ever seen 
anything 
in your life 
more wonderful 

than the way the sun, 
every evening, 
relaxed and easy, 
floats toward the horizon 

and into the clouds or the hills, 
or the rumpled sea, 
and is gone-- 
and how it slides again 

out of the blackness, 
every morning, 
on the other side of the world, 
like a red flower 

streaming upward on its heavenly oils, 
say, on a morning in early summer, 
at its perfect imperial distance-- 
and have you ever felt for anything 
such wild love-- 
do you think there is anywhere, in any language, 
a word billowing enough 
for the pleasure 

that fills you, 
as the sun 
reaches out, 
as it warms you 

as you stand there, 
empty-handed-- 
or have you too 
turned from this world-- 

or have you too 
gone crazy 
for power, 
for things?

Poetry

2010-11-30T11:17:00.000-08:00

This gem of a poem was sent to me by Laarni months ago. She knows me and knows my style, or maybe it's just that she has good style that I immediately love, whatever the case, I am grateful.

I'm bad with follow through, but I'm thinking I might post favorite poems each week... Enjoy

Poem For People That Are Understandably Too Busy To Read Poetry
by Stephen Dunn

Relax. This won't last long.
Or if it does, or if the lines
make you sleepy or bored,
give in to sleep, turn on
the T.V., deal the cards.
This poem is built to withstand
such things. Its feelings
cannot be hurt. They exist
somewhere in the poet,
and I am far away.
Pick it up anytime. Start it
in the middle if you wish.
It is as approachable as melodrama,
and can offer you violence
if it is violence you like. Look,
there's a man on a sidewalk;
the way his leg is quivering
he'll never be the same again.
This is your poem
and I know you're busy at the office
or the kids are into your last nerve.
Maybe it's sex you've always wanted.
Well, they lie together
like the party's unbuttoned coats,
slumped on the bed
waiting for drunken arms to move them.
I don't think you want me to go on;
everyone has his expectations, but this
is a poem for the entire family.
Right now, Budweiser
is dripping from a waterfall,
deodorants are hissing into armpits
of people you resemble,
and the two lovers are dressing now,
saying farewell.
I don't know what music this poem
can come up with, but clearly
it's needed. For it's apparent
they will never see each other again
and we need music for this
because there was never music when he or she
left you standing on the corner.
You see, I want this poem to be nicer
than life. I want you to look at it
when anxiety zigzags your stomach
and the last tranquilizer is gone
and you need someone to tell you
I'll be here when you want me
like the sound inside a shell.
The poem is saying that to you now.
But don't give anything for this poem.
It doesn't expect much. It will never say more
than listening can explain.
Just keep it in your attache case
or in your house. And if you're not asleep
by now, or bored beyond sense,
the poem wants you to laugh. Laugh at
yourself, laugh at this poem, at all poetry.
Come on:

Good. Now here's what poetry can do.

Imagine yourself a caterpillar.
There's an awful shrug and, suddenly,
You're beautiful for as long as you live.

the hurt

2010-10-27T10:15:00.000-07:00

grew and grew, like a hungry monster. eating away at care and compassion. eating away at efforts of trying.

it ate up everything. calm nerves, good memories, hope...

and it grew until there was nothing left but a numbness. a vast numbness where one's heart used to lie.

One of my favorite haikus

2010-10-23T01:06:00.000-07:00

She was 10. Guarded. Reserved. She didn't want to talk, so instead we wrote. I taught her about the fun and challenge of haikus and encouraged her to try to express her emotions in a 5-7-5 format. She told me she felt alone. I wrote:

On being alone...

She wrote:

I am a pigeon
in a flock of flamingos.
No one understands.

the beginning

2010-10-19T19:01:00.000-07:00

it was not loud

no crash
no boom
no bells and whistles

it was quieter
like a whisper
just too soft for me to hear

and so i leaned in
closer and closer
until there was no space
to divide us

descend

2010-09-29T10:31:00.000-07:00

I will follow you

into the icy blue depths

without looking back.

role model

2010-09-29T10:14:00.000-07:00

i'm beginning to worry about my forties. though still quite far away, they loom in the distance, like ominous gray clouds threatening to take away the sun filled day.

i've convinced myself that my umbrella to shield me from the depressing downpour of aging is going to come in the form of a forty year old female role model. someone i can look up to, idolize and aspire to be like.

i moved to oahu when i was 24 yrs old. that was seven years long ago. if we're thinking about cells and skin, i'm practically a new person from who i was before.

it was shortly after i moved here that i met jana (pronounced jayna). she was 30, but i would have never guessed it. part of that was my naive youth. at 24, thirty seemed olllllld. part of this may have been that on maui, the only people i hung out with were either my age or my parents' age. i wasn't getting a lot of exposure to the generation right above me. and so, 30 was an age i was in no rush to get to. an age i was afraid to get to actually, because to me, it meant getting to a place where i became settled, routine driven, and dulled down. but jana fell outside of the thirty year old black hole; she was pretty, athletic, funny, fun and she lived a life that i thought was cool. finding out that she was 30(!) was like finding hope for the future me.

now i'm 31, and my life, though much different from when i was 24, is also much the same because i'm still me. even if my skin and cells are not the same, the core of who i am still is. i'm still the same curious, awkward, adventure craving person. and i'm still stumbling anxiously but excitedly through life. i think one thing that scared me about the thirties (besides that it meant i'd be old and that i'd look old) was thinking i'd be a much different person. that somehow, as the years went on, i'd find myself stagnant and aged. gone would be the days of silly fun.

and while i can recognize the irrationality of my fears back then, and realize that whomever i turn out to be at 40, i'll be fine with, because add 10 yrs, 20, or 100, i'm still gonna be me. and even if you add the wrinkles, the gray hair and all the sags, i'm still going to be okay. it still feels a little anxiety provoking and i find myself searching for something safe to hold on to. which i've convinced myself will come in the form of meeting some really cool 40 yr old who's going to give me a glimpse into how the future could look for me. who's gonna give me comfort that it doesn't look that bad. that in fact, it looks pretty darn good.

she sits...

2010-09-21T11:41:00.000-07:00

she sits wondering if the years are passing her by.

life becomes a giant swirl. at the end of the day everything is fine. good, actually. and in moments, great. but there is a throbbing. a beating. somewhere deep within the inside of her insides, a pulsation that makes her restless. makes stillness intolerable.

a yearning, that has her searching for some hidden answer she doesn't yet know the question to.

one step

2010-09-10T14:15:00.000-07:00

he built her a stair
not a stairway
just a single stair
in just the right spot

on the rocky trail
that day after day
leads her to her bliss
her reprieve
her escape

her step up
was his step up

a silent yet sturdy proclamation
i see you
i hear you
i care for you

and now,
each time i pass it
on my way up and down
(to my own escape, reprieve and bliss)

i can't help but smile
and feel my heart melt for this man

i can't help but smile
and feel my heart melt for love,
romance,

and the silent power
of one single step

tangled

2010-09-02T12:38:00.000-07:00

the twisty knots of my emotions
sit in a jumbled mess
lodged somewhere between my throat
and the pit of my stomach

the fine lines wrap tightly
around my heart
and inner organs

reminding me of sugi
caught on a coral head
or perhaps lost in the wind

pulled taut
then snapped back
kinked
and twisted

crumpled into a messy ball
and discarded into the bottom
of an old plastic bucket

laying there
buried
under lead, tackle,
and tiny remnants of dried bait

laying there
covered
in salt and grime

i wanna find my genius

2010-06-02T10:14:00.000-07:00

maybe geniuses :)

i love erik...

2010-05-29T14:57:00.001-07:00

but i've still got a huge crush on jason...

lulls

2010-05-27T01:25:00.000-07:00

last week i went out at courts. the winds were up and there were long lulls in between sets.

it wasn't the best day for surfing, but still it felt good to be out in the water. sitting. floating. with no other agenda, than waiting for the right wave, and hoping i'd get it.

i'm not the best at catching waves, and often, i let many go by because i'm not fast enough, not ready, or because i lack the confidence to be like eddie and just go. or sometimes i'm just plain scared. that being said, for as many waves that pass me by, there's always a few that seem to come my way, and there are those moments when it feels like the particular wave i'm lining up for, came just for me.

i love that feeling.

but back to lulls...

currently life feels like a big lull. i'm not sure where i'm going or what i'm doing. i feel like i'm floating. which doesn't feel bad, but i have a sense of anticipation stirring in my soul. as if there's something up ahead. i feel myself readying. and both fear and excitement softly murmur, though i silence them each time, because waiting for the unknown is like all things unknown. confusing and hard to rely on.

but i do get that sense that something's about to come my way. what it is, i have no idea. but it'll bring change. i can feel that much in my bones. a change i might fear, but need nonetheless.

when i surf, i don't always have the reflex and courage to catch the waves that follow the lull. often i get timid. shy. hesitant.

i surf the way i live life. clumsy, and without coordination. wanting something, but backing down. then wishing i had gone. then promising the next time. and so on.

maybe this feeling is just a feeling. a nothing that i'm making something out of. soon to pass and be forgotten. but maybe it's a premonition. and if so, i'm hoping i'll have the courage to grab it, the coordination to ride it and the appreciation that always brings a big smile to face, whenever i'm falling into/riding whatever it is that life brings my way and feels especially meant for me.

What Goes Up Must Come Down- A lesson in Chinese Porn

2010-05-11T11:54:00.000-07:00

There's a line in the song Roller Coaster by Kimya Dawson that goes - "My mom says I hope someday you get paid for being Kimya Dawson."

My mom has never told me that, but it's something I often wish. That I could just get paid for being me. Or more specifically, that I could get paid for writing what I write- these whimsical, poorly edited, self exposing blogs. Like Martin Luther King Jr, I have a dream, perhaps not as noble of a dream, but it's a secret dream that one day people somewhere out there might happen across my blogs, ignore the grammar issues and the fact that most of this stuff is not final draft quality, and like what I write. Really like it. Like it so much, they say

More! More! Just as you are. No need to market yourself, no need to learn how to refine your writing; just write! All we want is for you to write, and if you do that, we'll tell you we like it, and we'll even pay you.

The dream actually goes further than my need for money and daily ego strokes. In that dream, there will be something in my words that these people connect to, that feeds them. Food for the soul. Food for the tortured, lost, but hopeful soul perhaps- and those that have an appreciation for that type of soul. In this particular dream of mine, my writing will bring to others that very same indescribable feeling that I feel when I read something catches me in some form or fashion.

And so, to get back to the title of this blog, I was beginning to feel that maybe (a long shot maybe, but still a maybe) the dream was beginning. In the past few months, I've had a new audience of Chinese readers leaving cryptic comments, mostly in Chinese characters followed by way too many ellipses. At first I ignored them, but then I got curious and began google translating their words, which were often proverbial in nature- We're too old too fast, but smart too late.....................; Smiling and happy every day..................; Bless you popular not diminished.....................

I found their comments confusing but I figured it might be a cultural thing and so, I deemed myself not quite smart enough to comprehend, but certainly grateful enough to appreciate their attention. And in reading their comments, I found my spirits going up, my ego nicely stroked and that feeling of "they like me, they like my writing!" coming forward and wondering if maybe the Chinese people really get me.

That was of course until I received a comment that was a direct link to Chinese porn. And suddenly it clicked that maybe there was something fishy about all these other Chinese comments. And so, I googled "Chinese comments on blogger," and found that the extended ellipses at the end of each comment was not just a fondness for that certain punctuation, but rather a hidden link to even more Chinese porn.

Bah!

So while pervy Chinese porn lovers' libidos go up, down goes my inflated ego and the feeling of a dream being fulfilled.

I suppose it's for the best. While I've always loved the Chinese for their culinary-able-to-eat-anything skills, there is so much I don't know about them, and I'm sure sooner or later I would have done something culturally offensive, possibly been black-listed and maybe perhaps even sought out by the Chinese mafia (if there is a Chinese mafia). I suppose it's safer this way.

So the dream lives on. And on. And on.................................................................

Crutches

2010-05-01T18:35:00.000-07:00

I remember once consoling a friend who had made her decision to end her marriage. She told me she didn't feel she had the right to be sad, as she was the one who left. I supportively argued back that she had every right to be sad, for no matter who holds the knife, when two people cut away from each other, they both bleed.

I also remember my dad, once comparing my mom to his arm. She had been away on a trip and he was having trouble sleeping without her. He told me that my mom was like a limb, and that when she was gone, he felt her presence missing, not just in the house, but in his own body. He seemed, almost to ache as he said it.

And finally, I remember my brother, once injuring his leg. It wasn't any type of injury that required an amputation, but it was enough to wind him up in crutches for a period of time. Causing him to need something to lean on and support himself while his limbs healed up.

I think often, once a relationship ends, it may feel as if something's been amputated, or at very least, badly injured, and many of us may feel the need for a crutch. Something to hold onto. Something to hold us up. It's not to say we wouldn't be able to get along without it, it's just to say there'd be a whole lot more wobbling without it, and more periods of noticeable acute pain. With a crutch, the pain still exists, the lack of mobility is still there, it's just slightly less bad.

Some of us find these crutches in vices and distractions. In spending one's self. This may include going out every night and tossing back a few that equal to several. Filling every moment of space with busyness. Going, going, going and trying not to stop, or even slow down, as to keep the mind and aching heart distracted.

Others of us find these crutches in people. Often finding a temporary somebody to fill a space they cannot possibly fill, but in which we'll try to fill them with nonetheless. Because even if it's not enough to stop the heartache, it's something. And there is comfort in having someone to lay down with. In having someone who's beating heart can be felt, when our own hearts have ceased to know how to go on. I think often, we may not even be aware that we use these people for such reasons, we just know we need someone near and grab hold to what we can.

I have in the past used both types of crutches. Something I'm not proud of, but not necessarily ashamed of either.

And sometimes, I've forgone the crutch to find myself bedridden. Trapped under covers. Hiding out from the pain of a love, like, lust, whatever that once was, and became no more.

But somewhere along my need for crutches, I've found one I hope to never give up. Somewhere through the trials and tribulations of living life. Of falling, again and again; I turned to writing to hold me together and help me get through the pain. And once I started, I couldn't seem to stop. Every heart pang I felt went down in words. In poems or blogs. Writing was something I didn't sleep with, but rather that came to me in my dreams, woke me in the middle of the night and called to me. Something that made me throw myself, my feelings, my experiences on to paper or computer screen. Somehow it made the pain into something, even if ugly and raw, almost pretty in the right light.

I think some crutches can turn into prosthetics... No longer merely metal and rubber to grab onto each time we rise, but rather something we strap to us and wear, not to take off unless to swim, shower or sleep. The drinking at the bar each night becomes an addiction, a way of life. The bed buddy we used to soften the blow of our latest fall becomes less buddy and instead, turns into a boyfriend or girlfriend.

And I think some prosthetics turn into those titanium limbs... the ones that screw into your leg, fuse to the bone, and become inseparable. Become a part of you that will not be removed, unless of course, ripped savagely from the body or surgically abstracted.

Some crutches, grow into us. Become a part of us.

And though I write less than I used to, I would like to hope that writing is to me like titanium is to bone. Fused. A part of me. No longer there to ease my aches, but rather, just there.

crazy

2010-04-22T13:13:00.000-07:00

Sometimes crazy sneaks in.

Like a thief in the night.

Like roaches that scurry away on your kitchen floor.

Like cancer. Infection. Disease.

It takes over. And you.

You.

The person who once was sane, becomes consumed.

And despite what pretty poems one can write; there’s no cleaning up crazy. No darling bow. No fancy dress.

Nothing.

Last night crazy struck at 6:02pm in downtown Honolulu. It wasn't pretty, but the destruction was minimal and there were no fatalities.

I hate suffering the crazies.

For those of you who read my blog, you've probably realized that I have issues. I'd like to think we've all got issues, we're all crazy in some mean or form, but that could just be me trying to make myself feel better.

I remember working with my first paranoid schizophrenic client. I was an undergrad in Greeley, Colorado, tender age of 20. I was on an acute residential psych facility. These kinds of places see your schizophrenics and schizoaffectives, major depression disorders, bipolars, meth addicts in psychosis and several others. Each of these disorders is a person, with a family of origin and many times with a family of their making. Each person lives a life. Each individual who comes through the door is labeled and put into a category describing their type of crazy. Many came already labeled. Already through the door several times before, wherever these doors exist.

My door belonged on the corner of a quiet suburb neighborhood.

I was a psychology major in the last year of my studies and doing my field experience.

The first client I worked with was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. He was older. Had white hair. For some reason, I've always had an affinity for older grandpa like men. He looked the part with his hair, wrinkly skin and physical stature, but his suspicious, angry eyes gave him away. Made him un-grandpa like. I remember before meeting with him, catching a glimpse of him through the window, my heart felt pity, it felt sad. But then, when I walked through the door and caught eyes with him, the pity faded to the background and fear jumped up and lodged itself in my throat.

He told me he was a vet from the war. He told me he couldn't trust me and that the room was bugged. I told him it wasn't and he could trust me. My heart beat rapidly in my chest, and the fear still lodged, now pulsated. I stammered that I was here to help. He told me no. Demanded that the room was bugged and eyed me suspiciously. I told him it wasn't. He said it was. I started to repeat myself again but then stopped, because it suddenly dawned on me that there's no arguing with crazy. And then a sense of calm came.

If I was going to be in here with him, I needed to be with him.

And so I asked him where? And he pointed out the spots. I suggested we problem solve. I knew I had to complete an interview with him and get some information, but I understood his concerns. I wouldn't want to talk in a bugged room either.

And so, we moved our chairs to the other side of the room. We pushed the table against the bugged wall and we spoke in whispers.

It was an interesting and exhilarating experience. Sad too. I felt for him. I felt for everyone that walked through that door.

I can't imagine what life would be like with that type of crazy, and so I suppose I should be grateful with my level. I think it's higher than the norm, but not on the smallest end of the far right bell curve.

My crazy. I'm not sure where it comes from exactly. Perhaps in my emotions. That they're so close to the skin, so easily activated and that they run so deep. For years and years I tried to numb myself. Teach myself not to feel. It didn't work, so then I ran in the other direction. The acceptance direction.

I came to terms with the fact that I am emo. I am sensitive. I am questioning and often anxiety ridden. I am a complete contradiction. Cynical and optimistic. A woman who refers to herself as a girl. A girl who searches for doom while at the same time believing in blissfully happy endings.

Just like my client from long ago, sometimes there is no arguing with me. It is the way it is, and even if all logical sense can tell me otherwise, it still doesn't matter.

My friend Brendt can attest to this. Half our encounters entail arguments. Playful arguments, but arguments nonetheless. Brendt is not crazy. He's the opposite. He's logical, practical. Analytical and goal oriented. He leads with his head. I lead with my feelings. And so, we often end up head against emotions, on some subject in which he feeds me logic and I reject it with feelings.

At the end, he always surrenders. Because you can't argue with crazy. He'll agree to disagree and let me hold to my faith, not because it makes sense, but because it's just the way I feel.

I don't know when I started letting my freak flag fly. When I came out of the closet and declared that I was in fact not completely sane and I wasn't going to hide it anymore. But it was a relief, and in it, I've connected with other fellow crazies. The ones who bank on things they cannot guarantee even exist, the ones who torture themselves needlessly and ask unanswerable questions about life.

Last night at 6:02pm the crazies struck. I found myself overwhelmed with questions about life and love. Once again fear lodged itself in my throat, and pulsated, begging me for an unanswerable answer to calm my nerves. I was desperate to know what my future will be and whether or not I'm making the right decisions now.

I was fortunate enough to find myself in the company of friends. Who listened and watched as I wrestled myself. The self that so often seems to get in the way of... not happiness- I've been accused of being afraid of happiness, of not wanting to be happy, and that's not true. Happiness is easy. It's there every day of my life. In my morning cup of coffee, in my interactions with others, by watching the sunset, seeing a rainbow in the sky, or riding down a sloping wave or steep hill. Happiness isn't my problem. The part I wrestle with, the part I can't seem to settle into is contentment.

And so, on a bar on Hotel St. as I poured out my fears and concerns, and wrestled myself to the ground. While my friends watched and did one of two things one should always do when they're confronted with crazy. (They didn't leave, which would be number one.) They did two. Stayed. Held the space. Were there for me. And even though they could have told me I was being irrational, that life will unfold as it will and that I needn't know all the answers right now, they didn't. They let me have my fears, they pushed the table against the metaphorical bugged wall, moved their chairs in closer, and convinced the bartendar to buy me a shot.

build up

2010-04-20T13:37:00.000-07:00

i want to drop my head

my arms

my shoulders

breathe in deeply

exhale

and then just shake.

shake it all out of me.

hickeys

2010-04-12T02:15:00.000-07:00

This is not a hickey. It's actually a paintball wound from this Saturday's festivities for Erik's birthday. But it looks like a hickey, and it's making this week's wardrobe one of scarves and turtlenecks.

And it's got me thinking about hickeys...

My first hickey was when I was around 6 yrs old. I think my brother came home with hickeys on his neck and that was how we learned about them. It was a phenomenon at the time, and being fascinated, Kimi and I sucked on our hands and arms until we had the maroonish brands tattooed up and down. I remember getting questioned by our gymnist teacher, who pulled us aside and asked us what the marks were from. I didn't want to tell her, and she probably initially thought that we were hiding a serious secret, because I remember her being very concerned and talking to us in a cooing "it's okay" kind of voice. She even asked if they were burn marks. When I finally confessed she stared at us like we were two strange children. It was an awkward moment to say the least.

I can't remember my first "real" hickey... as in one that I got from necking with a boy... I think it may have been early college... I remember never wanting them on my neck, but secretly enjoying the ones that only I knew about. There was something about them... a sense of ownership, taboo, something... I'm not sure how to quite explain it, and as I try to right now, I'm wondering if I'm branding myself as that same weird 6 yr old all over again. .

Nowadays I can't stand hickeys. Early in our dating Erik accidentally gave me a few during the phase of our courtship when we were like high school kids all over again. I yelled then cried. It was an overdramatic reaction, but it was seriously how I felt.

So you can imagine how it feels to have this nice new mark glaring on my neck... sigh.

The death of a girl who believed in signs

2010-04-08T03:23:00.000-07:00

There's a scene in Sleepless in Seattle, when Meg Ryan is trying on her grandmother's wedding dress as she talks to her mom about her fiance. The mom exclaims the way she and the fiance met was clearly a sign. Meg tells her she doesn't believe in signs, and then seconds later, in true romantic comedic irony, as Meg moves her arm and suddenly rips the dress, she turns to her mom in panic and whispers "it's a sign!"

And it was. Because (spoiler alert) she ends up with Tom Hanks, not the dorky loving fiance.

I can relate to Meg's character, as I am often quick to search for the negative signs, instead of the ones pointing to eternal bliss.

I wasn't always like this, once I was a girl who looked at the world around me in wide eyed wonderment, eager for signs that confirmed what I wanted. But that part of me died long ago.

16 years, long ago...

His name was David. He was gorgeous. Tall, handsome. A smile that drew me in. A year younger, which made me hesitate, until I caught sight of his smile again.

I met him on a playful summer's day at Twin Falls, minutes before I jumped off the back waterfall for the first time. I had eyed the jump for a while that day, and knew sooner or later I would take the plunge. He arrived with mutual friends, and as I climbed my way over, and stood at the edge, fear riveting through my body, knees shaking and confidence wavering; he caught my eye and shook his head "no." It was all I needed to push me over the edge. I smirked at him and flew.

When I emerged soaking wet and triumphant, we caught eyes once more and I knew he liked me and I liked him. We hung out for a couple weeks, coincidentally running into each other wherever we would go. Which wasn't so coincidental as his two friends had huge crushes on my sister and friend. While they outwardly pursued their objects of affection, David and I and shyly danced around that line of mutual attraction. All talking lied in the eyes, half smiles, and subtle gestures. It was a tremulous excitement... the silent knowing.

This all occurred the summer following the death of my Grandad. He was a sweet old man, who was gentle and kind. He repaired bikes for the neighborhood kids, loved mint chocolate chip ice cream, and carried butterscotch candies in his pocket. When I was little, he was my best friend. I was always by his side, and it was his hand I always reached to hold. And when we would hold hands, we would make a point to squeeze three times, a secret code meaning "I love you."

When I was 15 he had a small heart attack. He was scheduled for a bypass surgery in order to make things all better. I remember seeing him before he flew out to Oahu for his surgery. I had just finished my second attempt at obtaining my driver's license, this time successful. I visited him in the hospital happy and excited about my newest step toward adulthood. He and my parents all assured me his surgery was no big thing, and so, I casually wished him well probably more focused on me than anything else. Before I left, I held his hand, making sure to squeeze it three times.

He died during his surgery.

Six months later, I was still missing his presence in this world.

The signs...

On a cloudless starry night, my friends and I, along with David and his friends met at Big Beach. We did what normal teens did. Hung out doing nothing. We started as a group until slowly by slowly people paired off...

And then there were two.

David and I.

Alone.

He suggested we walk down the shore, and I agreed, both excited and nervous. As we walked, I stared at the sky. We didn't talk. Just walked in silence as the tension of our attraction became thicker and thicker. I could feel my heart racing as I bit my lip anxiously. I didn't know what to expect, but knew I was excited and having the time of my life. David grabbed my hand as we continued down the shoreline. His warm palms enveloped mine. The silence continued, as we trudged across the sand going with no destination in mind, just happy to be walking together. And then, he squeezed my hands three times. I came to a halt, turned to him, then turned my head up to the heavens. At that exact moment a star leapt from them and fell across the sky.

I was certain it was a sign.

So certain, I let him kiss me, even though he wasn't my boyfriend.

I went home that night feeling giddy. I knew deep down there was something extremely special in store for David and me, for surely the signs said so.

Surely.

Not.

Two weeks later, on a sneak out camping trip, I found him kissing my friend.

I was dumbfounded more than devastated because I just couldn't understand. And so, I decided that signs meant nothing. They were for fools.

Fast forward to now...

In my relationship with Erik, I battle my commitment phobic self daily. I sometimes surprise myself with how many issues I have, and how hard it is for me to be settled. There are days when I am certain about our destiny and others when I feel the future is what it is: unpredictable and unknown.

And it's funny, but the signs that point to yes seem to scare me more than the signs that point to no.

Our signs...

Most of our "signs" are found in the quietness of our daily life... the small things he does everyday to show me I am loved. But some are more symbolic. The messages from the world around, kind of stuff...

I remember on our second date we went for a hike. (The second date is always a turning point for me because it means "hey I actually like you enough to want to get to know just how much I can like you.") During this hike I saw my first ever mountain Naupaka flower. It's a flower I've kept my eye out for since the time I first heard it's legend as a child (http://christy-writes2.blogspot.com/2009/05/unemployment-mondays-ii.html#comments). I had many times over seen the common beach variety, but never before found a mountain plant. To me, the Naupaka flowers are something that symbolize romance and two halves destined to be together. And seeing this particular flower was a significant moment for me.

Perhaps if I was still the girl I was before meeting David, that experience alone would have convinced me that Erik and I are meant to be. It would have saved him from the questioning and doubt I sometimes find myself trapped in; but since that part of me died off long ago, it remains what it is. An interesting and cool coincidence.

The signs, the knowing, the meant to be's...they haunt me. I sometimes feel so much pressure to know my forever right here and now. I feel society and what not push us to believe in a level of sensing that seems more like luck of the draw. Is it really possible for someone to "just know?"

Maybe...

In my life, there are many people who "just knew," that remain together to this day and beyond. But I also know just as many who claimed that same destined-fate feeling that are no longer together anymore. As well as another handful of couples who's fates, as strong as they may seem, still remain unknown. This need to know drives me to points of insanity at times.

Erik and I. We don't know. Even when we think we do. We don't. No one does. Except those who do. But then again, who's to really say?

And so, as I continue to find my footing in the world of relationships, I must remind myself that each day is a new day filled with whatever signs I choose to seek out, and if I focus too much on predicting the future, I might miss out what I know right now.

That being said... this is not in anyway to discount those who "just know"- good for you. Really. This is perhaps, just to nullify my own feelings of inadequacy for not always knowing.

Good luck to all of us.

on forgetting and over-reacting

2010-03-07T23:49:00.001-08:00

sometimes it's the easiest things that are the hardest to remember.

like breathing.

in and out.

.......................

stuck.

i couldn't tell if it was the icy cold of the freezer or the fear that sent shivers down my spine.

either way, there i was trembling.

panic struck through me like lightning and instead of remembering the basics, i went off on tangents that did me no good. i thought of macgyver episodes from childhood days and i remembered in one episode he had managed to blow off the door of a walk-in freezer with nothing more than a pack of matches and something else. i racked my brain to recall what the something else was, even though i didn't have matches, so it wouldn't have mattered anyway.

i then tried to remember how long it took for hypothermia to set in. how long one could go with out oxygen. two facts i had never actually learned, but tried to bring forth nonetheless.

i thought about my co-workers just a few feet away, in the warmth of the kitchen, oblivious to my predicament. it was unlikely anyone would come back to the freezer for a while, and in a while, i could be frozen and dead.

hyperventilation started to kick in and i was tempted to scream even though i knew it would do no good.

i pawed at the handle-less door, trying to understand where the handle went. how one was supposed to get out, and then suddenly i remembered.

push.

not pull.

...like i said, sometimes the easiest things are the hardest to remember.

Washing off the day

2010-02-22T23:55:00.000-08:00

I crept through rush hour traffic.

It had been a long day. Client after client. Each one with a different story. Each one a testament of strength and overcoming.

I feel honored to work with these individuals, honored to connect with them to the depths that they allow me to, but it doesn't stop me from feeling tired. And today their stories weighed on me like layers of other people's lives.

And so I sat in traffic, contemplating a text from Laarni that promised clean sets.

I had sentenced myself to the Koko Head stairs in order to redeem myself from the bedridden disease that overcame me this past weekend. I blamed sickness but I can't lie. Laziness was tangled under the covers with me as well. I hate it when I waste a weekend and felt I needed some form of punishment and push.

But as I sat watching the clear blue skies and still leaves on trees, I decided to let myself off easy.

And so I rushed home, changed, grabbed by board and made my way quickly to Diamond Head. I flew down the goat trail as I raced the fading light of day, feeling almost giddy with anticipation for what was to come.

The water was warmer than I anticipated and I said a silent "thank you."

Paddle, paddle, paddled out to the line up. The cool, salty water on my skin immediately took me far far away from the day. From the office. From everything but the present moment.

I said a quick and cheerful hello to Nic and Laarni as I watched them catch waves I couldn't quite catch myself. It didn't matter. I sat in awe of the beauty of the sky doing yet another glorious finale to the passing of the day.

Sunsets never cease to amaze me. I hope they never ever will.

I waited.

And while I waited, I played with the clouds. They created shapes, not just for me, but I pretended so anyway. I saw a heart, a phoenix, a walrus. I didn't see a lion or an aligator, but both were pointed out to me. Perhaps the clouds made those shapes just for those particular surfers.

They turned into pinkish orange cotton candy but I found myself too mesmerized by the glowing ball of fire sinking into the horizon. Despite knowing better, I stared at anyways, turning away, only when everything started to get spotty.

I began a haiku in my head:

A beauty so pure...

I didn't finish it.

I caught my wave. And a couple more. Feeling alive as I glided up and down the smooth clean curls.

Feeling humbled and slightly embarrassed as I face planted gracelessly.

Feeling challenged and out of breath as I swam for my board.

Feeling grateful for Laarni as she grabbed it for me each time.

I watch fire turn to ash. Orange brilliance turn to a deep blue gray. I stayed in the water until the sun clocked out and the half moon clocked in.

And up the goat trail I went. Huffing and puffing and smiling.

Washing off the day and reminding myself that I must make time for this more often...

V-Day

2010-02-11T14:32:00.000-08:00

Valentine's is fast approaching.

This morning as I drank my coffee, it dawned on me that in all of my almost 31 yrs, this will be the 2nd Valentines that I'm actually with someone for this romantic (okay, consumer driven) holiday. All of my other V-days I've been single.

Like Christmas and birthdays I think there's an inherent expectation to Valentine's day, even if I try to fight it. Call it social conditioning, aka: brainwashing, but despite all of the "nah, I don't care about it" sentiments I keep spouting, I know my feelings will be hurt if I don't get my romantic gesture. I don't want to be that girl, but sadly, I am.

And in truth, I love the idea behind the day. A day dedicated to love. A day demanding romance, gifts, chocolates, flowers, and delicious dinners. I mean, that's waaaay better than searching for stinky boiled eggs, now isn't it? ;) (Just kidding Jesus)

So, one should think I'd be excited for Valentine's now that I have a partner to share this joyous holiday with. But oddly, I'm not. Instead I find myself nostalgic for my single days.

Don't get me wrong, I love Erik and I love being with him.

Love curling up in his warm arms.

Love his sweet kisses.

Love the way he tells me something nice about myself everyday (what girl doesn't love a good ego stroke?).

I love how I think about him throughout the day and find my heart filling with appreciation, find a smile breaking on my face without fail.

I love how we work together as a team. (I make messes, he cleans them up. I break things, he fixes them. He cooks, I eat- it's perfect).

I truly love being with him.

But again, that being said. I miss certain things from singledom.

I miss the excitement. I miss the level of intimacy at which I connected with other fellow singletons. I miss writing about all of the emotions that went with singleness, and the community that I found in it.

As a couple, Erik and I are our own community. We are our gas station, grocery story and public park. Essentially everything I need is within us. He is my home. "Us" is my safe haven.

But it wasn't always like that. Once upon a time I was a nomad without a home. My community was everywhere and nowhere.

Once upon a time, Laarni and I raided each other's fridges on a weekly basis because stores don't sell to single people, and we'd have too much lettuce, tomatoes, etc, to eat on our own.

Malia and I sent messages to each other about the pains and perils, as well as the excitement of our forever single statuses.

Going out was the band aid for loneliness and my phone rang frequently to come to the call of duty for a fellow single girlfriend.

I found a certain camaraderie in those days, and I had a great love for my fellow battle buddies- the ones that could commiserate about attending weddings alone, being asked "why are you still single?" far too many times, subjected to co-workers trying to set us up with someone they knew would be so perfect, but so wasn't. We felt each other's pains and celebrated each other's small joys better than anyone else.

A conversation with a coupled friend might involve me sharing some juicy tid bits and them feigning as much interest as they could muster. (Though I can't blame them, for it was always the same story, different guy).

A conversation with a fellow single girlfriend would lead to OMG! Do tell! Secretive smiles and collaboration. Because when you're single, each person is new, each person is a possible maybe, even if you know deep down they really aren't.

And so, as Valentine's day approaches, I think of how things used to be. I remember both the pending doom, and the silver linings and I smile at days not so long lost. Because back then the only goal for V-day was to survive; to get through the painful awareness that I wouldn't be getting roses, wouldn't be having a dinner, wouldn't be picking a fight because it wasn't quite romantic enough, and that even if I told myself I didn't care. I did. And others did too. And so we did together. Strangely enough, there was something fun about surviving those days. A certain badge of honor.

However, that being said, I am happy to have my man. And on some small level happy for the way my V-day plans are panning out. We actually won't be spending the day together, as I'll be off island and when I return, he'll be at work. But I am looking forward to making up for the missed day, and I'm also looking forward to being awoken by his sweet kisses when he comes home in the wee hours, and I'm tucked in fast asleep, hopefully not snoring or drooling, as I so often do.

Happy Valentine's Day all!

2010-01-01T18:05:00.000-08:00

2010 begin:

kissed the boy at midnight

found friends and stood on a roof top with a 360 view of the city

gathered with loved ones and watched the sunrise at sandy's

burned my letter

enjoyed whales jumping

and the monk seal who took a nap right near us

breakfast at bogarts (chicken veggie omlette- yum)

sleep. wonderful, beautiful sleep tangled up in erik's arms and legs

slow lazy time

surfed at sunset with jasmine. it was mesmerizing to watch that big orange ball lose itself in the ocean's horizon.

tried making the mochi soup my mom makes at new years. not as good as hers, but edible!

2010 day one: off to a great start

insomnia and google reader

2009-11-13T02:23:00.000-08:00

allowed me to stumble across this lovely quote:

precisely the right disasters comes at the right moment to break us open to the helplessness that an opening of the heart requires.~coleman barks

bliss

2009-11-10T23:52:00.001-08:00

i love words.

i love the way they explain things.

i love the way they roll off my tongue.

i love the way, that when i find the right word, whether it be for a poem, a statement, or in my own busy head, it provides freedom, release and peace.

with words we predict our future.

yes.

no.

can.

cannot.

will.

won't.

with words we make and break our relationships.

we can say hello or goodbye.

we start and finish... and fill in all that's in between.

for the past three years, to mark the new year and send off a wish for what i hope it will bring, i've chosen a single word. this word serves as an intention. a reminder. it's the word i fall back on throughout the year seeking it out and trying to understand it to the best of my ability.

words are tricky.

one single word can have so much meaning.

and each year that i choose a word, i learn it's meaning in more way than one.

2008 was a hard year. it was a year that involved many wonderful experiences, but also one of many losses and a lot of hardship. i wanted `09 to be better, so i chose the word bliss, thinking it was a no fail word. that there was going to be no downside to bliss.

and there isn't, at least not yet that i've noticed (fingers crossed), but i've learned that bliss isn't as simple as i once thought.

i'm not alone in my word tradition and learning each word throughout the year... many other friends have joined me in this new year's practice.

one particular friend, chessa, chose the word joy.

her 08 was also tough, and as we planned for 09 to come around we both moaned and groaned to each other that we hoped it would be easier.

a couple months ago chessa started documenting her daily joys. it's something i love to keep tabs on. first, i love getting a glimpse into what it is that brings a smile to her face each day and second, i just think it's a really cute and cool idea.

each day she takes a moment to make a tribute to joy. in one of her entries she wrote: sometimes, joy is what shows up only after the pain finally stops.

and just as chessa is getting to know her word in more ways than she had figured, i am learning my own chosen word as well.

this is what i am learning...

bliss is found in moments. it's not something one can hold onto or even control. it's not even something you can summon, though i have tried to do so many times. instead, at least in my experience, it is like a rainbow in the sky. something that just happens to appears when the conditions are right. and if you keep your head to the skies and are in the right place at the right time, you'll be lucky enough to enjoy it.

in this year i've tried to create moments of bliss, i've tried to evoke the feeling only to find myself frustrated and discouraged. i've found myself in the midst of a handful of things that should have made me happy beyond belief, only to feel sad, down, and annoyed. searching and wondering "where is my bliss?!"

but when i've let things be and went about my day, i found it showed up here and there without any meddling of my own.it was in morning coffee sessions. in the surf. in the sunset. in a warm embrace or a belly laugh. it wasn't something i could bring to the table, but if i took the time to focus and appreciate the moment, then there it was, darting in and out, here and there. reflecting off the bits and pieces of my life.

in addition to learning that bliss is not within my control, i've also learned that it requires a bit of bravery. it requires following, which contrary to popular belief, isn't for the meek, but instead is for the trusting. to be blissfully happy is to let go. to give in to the senses and let all else fall away.

whether it be:

in love

in the moment

in life

to follow bliss requires a certain degree of faith. it means not asking questions but instead just letting that little voice or feeling in me lead. it means listening to what it is that speaks to me in a silent language, even if i don't fully understand what it's saying or know where it's going to take me. it requires the courage to be okay with things not making sense.

it requires more being. less pleasing. more allowing. less searching and trying to figure it all out.

bliss.

it's a beautiful word that i am enjoying the challenge of learning.and while we're still a bit off, as yet another year starts to dwindle down, i find myself thinking about my next word for my next year. i'm thinking maybe next year i'll go in the opposite direction. choose a word that's usually unappealing and learn the upsides.

we shall see...

thoughts on green grass, daisies and erik

2009-11-05T00:47:00.000-08:00

My ever so optimistic friend, Kira, likes to say “the grass isn't greenest on the other side of the fence, the grass is greenest on my side.”

She’s one of those people that I aspire to be like; always finding the upside in down times. Most recently when her apartment was flooded, instead of complaining about it, she shared with me about how lucky she was to have her in-laws to house her. Even when I asked her “isn’t it an inconvenience??” she just shrugged her shoulders and smiled.

I am not at Kira’s level yet. Far from it. I waiver both ways on my green grass views. And so, I believe that the grass is greenest wherever you water it. Unfortunately, I hop the fence all the time without even meaning to, water hose in hand, quick to saturate myself in the beauty of someone else's yard while I complain about everything that lacks in my own.

My grass is like a Dr. Suess rhyme that never seems to rhyme…Green grass, brown grass. Good life. Blah life. I never quite know what my mood is going to be on any given day. Which frustrates me to no end, because I know I’ve got it good, really good. But I just can’t always feel the goodness of my good.

And all this talk about grass, when the truth is, I don't have any grass.

Just concrete.

That, and 4 long slender garden boxes that Erik built for me. Boxes which host strawberries, chilies, basil, rosemary, lettuce and a slew of other things, including the Gerbera daisies I had to beg to include.

(Several months ago at the garden shop)

Me: Oooh. Let's get these! They're so pretty!

Erik: Really?! But they're useless; they're just gonna take up space and we could grow something really cool instead.

Me: What?! They're sooo cool. And they make me smile. Are you saying that’s useless??

(Needless to say I won that argument)

And since he takes charge of watering the garden, it's always green... and pink and red and orange too. No grass but that's okay.

Because in this time of shades of gray (and green). In this time of ups and downs. Questions, fears and the continual existential crisis about what I'm doing with my life and whether I'll live up to my potential. (Whether I still have potential.) I know that even if I end up desolate, down, dejected and so much less than I had hoped for, I'll be okay. Because I've got family and friends that will love me no matter what. That will tell me I'm good, and who will always be there.

And I've also got Erik.

For as the weeks turn into months and newness turns into settled in. As we grow into each other, grow into an "us." Find ourselves so wrapped up in each other's arms, lives, beings, hopes, dreams, frustrations, fears, etc. that one becomes a part of the other and I begin to forget what life was once like without him. I'm learning this:

I've got a man who will build me a garden with daisies even if he thinks they take up space.

A man, who, even if I were pick a daisy in that garden, strip it down to it's last petal and find myself whispering "he loves me not," would no doubt still love me. And even if 100 daisies came to the same conclusion, he would still stand, unwavering.

There is something to be said for someone who is not shy with their feelings and who doesn't go a day without letting me know I am loved and cared about.

And maybe that's the greenest of greens. The bluest of blues. Maybe that's the color I always wished there was a word for. The color I used to call "Alaska" as a little girl, not realizing that Alaska was a state, but instead thinking it was that word for all the colors in the world swirled around together like an oil spot on the street, but prettier and not as dirty.

As time goes on, maybe I am becoming just a little bit more like Kira...

friday night's homework: incomplete

2009-10-24T00:50:00.000-07:00

which super power would you pick? being able to fly or breathe underwater? and why?

both would be awesome, but i would fly

thursday: invent a new ocean sport

2009-10-23T01:03:00.000-07:00

water running.

it will start with a couple of crazy kids strapping baby water wings to their feet and then challenging each other to see who can stay standing the longest.

a couple challengers will be naturally good at this. from there, the challenge will change to racing each other.

friends will tell friends, and more and more people will try.

there will be makeshift competitions with cases of beer given out as prizes.

popularity will grow.

after some time, an entrepenuer will see $$ signs in his mind and develop and market special water running shoes which promise to make you faster than ever.

a commercial will be made using cool imagery, inspiring messages and a really handsome athlete.

people will dress up as jesus and race each other. this will cause controversy and end up on the news, thus further spreading the word about water running.

professional water runners will emerge.

paris hilton will date one of them and state "w.r.a.h!" (water runners are hot!)

a 5k to benefit the leukemia and lymphoma society will be held.

then a half marathon.

then a marathon.

p.diddy and oprah will train to compete.

and that is the story of the invent of water running.

wed: a characteristic about yourself that your friends value

2009-10-22T02:36:00.000-07:00

while i don't think this would be the first thing to come to people's minds, i think one thing that friends tend to value about me is my predictability.

this morning i picked malia up before i went to work to let her borrow my car. on the way to work we talked about various things, one being the blog. she laughed and stated about how my last blog, where i first complained about erik's homework and then did it and seemed to get into it, was so typically me.

predictable: to declare or tell in advance; prophesy; foretell: to predict the weather; to predict the fall of a civilization.

friends capitalize on teasing me knowing the reaction they'll get.

they know that if they scare me i'll scream

if they come to me to talk, i'll listen.

if they need me, i'll be there.

if they have a problem, i'll offer help

that i love new experiences

if you dare me i'm likely to do it, even if i don't want to

i make sucker bets

if i can jump it i'll want to

that i'll usually need to be coaxed into things that involve spotlights

they know if i'm trying to explain myself i'll use an analogy.

and that i'll end this list here, semi incomplete and be fine with it

i think my friends value that they know me.

tuesday night's homework: write about a future unusual pet that you like and why they are so special

2009-10-21T02:19:00.000-07:00

while well intentioned and definitely (at least to me) aww worthy, erik's homework isn't quite cutting it for me. i love the thought behind it but it's not the kind of writing i want to do.

i want...

i want to write amazing pieces. i want to figure out a way to string words together in such a way that make people pause. that speak to them. catch them. make them feel something they haven't felt. or maybe something they're needing to feel... pieces that feed one's soul. not in the chicken soup kind of way, but in a different way. a way that connects us all as humans.

i believe that our experiences while vastly different are often quite connected. and though the context might vary, i think most of us go through many of the same emotions. hope. fear. disappointment. happiness. excitement. nervousness. embarrassment. etc. etc. etc. i love writing about emotions. i love learning to understand them more. in myself and in others. i want to write pieces that feed the emotional sides of us. that both stir and soothe those parts of us at the exact same time.

that's what i want.

and it's scary to want something and not know if it's possible. attainable. i have no idea if i'm going to be the writer i want to be. i'm 30 years old and not off to the best start. and now with this ongoing writer's block, it feels like what little umph i had, has disappeared. but i've been here before. questioning myself. wondering if want and reality are on the same page, or if something's gotta give.

i remember while in the dating scene, time and time again i wondered if i'd ever find someone i connected with. loved. i searched for something that was missing. something i never had before, but believed existed. that something was both foreign and familiar.

this want to write. to be a writer. is like that. and it scares me to say it aloud, but it is my truth. it is my desire. and so i'm putting it out there...

but i'm way off subject. so enough rambling. it's time i get on with this homework assignment and tell you about my pet fronkey, floyd.

i found floyd while i was in peru. it was after i sucked it up, stopped thinking of my cuy as a pet and ate the damn thing. it was gooood. who knew guinea pig could be so tasty??

after that, i went for a walk to ease my stomach. my walk led down a dirt path and on that dirt path was an adolescent boy with a cardboard box full of fronkeys. i'd never heard nor seen a fronkey before. it was the most unusual thing to see these cross breeds of monkeys and frogs.

later, after returning to hawaii i learned that fronkeys were the experiment of some peruvian scientist who created these animals by genetically tampering with their dna. the experiment went well, but due to controversy, was forced to shut down. the fronkeys were scheduled to be exterminated, however, the night before their extermination someone broke into the facility and let the creatures escape. they ran off to the jungle and repopulated wreaking havoc on the environmental systems. this is currently a big crisis in peru. however, government officials have been trying to keep quiet about it, as not to deter tourism and put peru in bad light. currently there are tons of people who are trying to exterminate them, but others who catch fronkeys and use them for financial gain by selling them through the black market. and then there are the occasional people who sell fronkeys to unsuspecting tourists, like the kid i came across, on the day i met floyd.

anyway, back to my story... the box was filled with 3 small (about the size of chihuahuas) creatures shaped like monkeys, but with green fur, webbed feet, a long slender tongue and these big brown eyes that could make you melt. and melt i did the moment one of them (floyed) looked up at me.

i didn't think. i went off of pure instinct and knew i had to have him. it was as if, and i know this sounds crazy, we had met in a former life. he had been my pet once before. and i knew my mission was to buy him, take him home and care for him.

and so i did. it wasn't easy and involved a lot of risk and a lot of illegal activity, as fronkeys aren't allowed outside of peru. but with a lot of luck and good fortune on my side, i was able to pull it off.

adjusting to being a pet owner of a strange and exotic pet took time. i learned a lot about responsibility and taking care of living things, but it has been an amazing experience.

as for what's so special about this unusual pet. well, i could go on and on about floyd... he is the cutest thing. i love coming home to him happily swinging on the closet bar. and i also love the fact that he kills all of the bugs in the house including those big huge roaches that used to scare the crap out of me. he's also a great swimmer and extremely agile. and, i mean, come on, he's a fronkey! that in itself is special with a capital S. but to me, what makes him special is just that he's... well, him. and when he looks at me with those big brown eyes and that cute little green face, there's just no words.

this past weekend we celebrated his 3rd birthday. yes, i know i've become one of "those" pet owners that do weird things like throw birthday parties for their animals. but i just had to. and it really was more just an excuse to have some fun with friends. check out the cake! the decorator totally screwed it up by making it brown instead of green, but it's still pretty cute, isn't it ???

(photo taken from: http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/)

monday night's homework

2009-10-20T02:16:00.000-07:00

okay, so first assignment and not off to the best start. still... at least i'm turning something in, and i have to admit, looking for inspiration led me to some interesting websites.

feeling coy about cuy:

never in my life had i ever imagined that i would want to be a fat middle aged bald man.

and yet here i was in lima, peru staring at a dish that reminded me of a pet i had long long ago. suddenly the bold and adventurous andrew zimmern wannabe in me disappeared and all i wanted was a mcdonald's hamburger with a side of fries.

(photo taken from http://www.andrewzimmern.com/content/experiencing-world-262-miles-time)

**side note, actually i would totally eat that.

an unusual muse

2009-10-20T00:37:00.000-07:00

not writing bugs me. it eats at me. it's something i think about on a daily basis.

i used to write.

i don't anymore.

i've stopped complaining about it because i've grown tired of my redundancy, but still, it's there. like a whispering shadow that follows me and reminds me. you used to be a girl that wrote.

i opened this blog last night. and the night before, and before. stared at the keyboard and tried to typed. did type. then erased. tried again. and again and then gave up.

last night when erik came home from work he found me close to tears venting to him about how i totally and utterly suck. that i've lost a part of myself. that i miss me. the me that wrote. he stared at me bewildered and gave me a look that said "i don't know what to do here. stay quiet or say something?" i shook my head at him, mumbled a little more about my eternal suckiness and then crawled into bed and pouted.

this morning he called excited to me to tell me his "idea." stating something along the lines of him enforcing a rule that i write for at least 30 min every night before i go to bed. no writing. no bed. i smiled at his effort and said something nice, but unbeknownst to him, i also rolled my eyes and thought "no." and then went down a series of thoughts about how men always need to fix things and that he just doesn't get it... it's not that easy. blah blah blah. more defeat.

however tonight when i came home i found this pinned to the fridge:

a list of my writing homework assignments.

mon: write about a food dish that you at on an imaginary trip that you took to any place you have not been before

tues: write about a future unusual pet that you like and why they are so special

wed: a characteristic about yourself that your friends value

thursday: invent a new ocean sport

fri: which super power would you pick? being able to fly or breathe underwater? and why?

sat: pick any object in the living room. imagine it comes alive at night hwen you are asleep. it goes out around town. describe it's typical night.

sun: you are a worker ant and have a crush on the queen. what is your plan to win her love?

aww. it took my breath away and made me crack up laughing at the same time.

the assignments are tough, and funny and downright odd and i really don't know if i'll be able to pull it off, but i love the thought behind them.

homework never felt so heartwarming.

prelude to a haiku

2009-10-10T17:49:00.000-07:00

driving into work last week i listened to ingrid michaelson singing "the way i am" http://aimini.net/view/?fid=fRuSSL77xG7Tv8I2b6E3 (love that song). in it, she like so many other poets, songwriters, declarers of love, etc sings about catching a falling lover.

in the midst of all my routine morning thoughts i found myself thinking about the concept of love and one person falling while the other catches them. while nice in theory, i think for me, when it comes to love i like the idea of instead having the other person fall right with me. no catcher, just us. two hopeful, excited, ring around the rosies, caught up in the moment, people falling. maybe never to be caught. maybe to enjoy the feeling of falling, falling, falling for as long as the drop may last.

haiku

i want you with me

not standing at the bottom

but here. fall-falling.

testing fate

2009-09-15T03:18:00.000-07:00

on wednesday i'll be taking the license in clinical social work exam. it's taken me one master's degree, 2.5 years of accumulating 3000 supervised hours, paperwork, applications and a $175 exam fee to get to this point. if i pass i'll be licensed which means more liberty to do what i love doing, an opportunity to get paid more, and being able to sign LCSW after my name.

if i don't pass i'll be seriously bummed, embarrassed, out $175, and back to studying.

(let's hope i pass.)

because this is big. very big. i've worked hard to get to this point.

the not so funny thing is, that while i can recognize how big this is, my behaviors seem to show otherwise. whereas some people study for this exam for months, i've only just started studying last week. in fact, last night during my designated study time, i did everything possible to actually avoid studying. i pickled onions, made strawberry guava bars, chicken adobo and even built one of those do it yourself furniture sets from k-mart.

this morning with 2 days left, i cursed at myself. shook my head and freaked out internally. thoughts of failing run through my head, and i am suddenly clinging on to hope and good fortune as tight as i can.

while it does me no good, i still can't help but chastise myself. why do i always do this? really, why? i'm smart enough to recognize my bad decisions in procrastination, but i suppose dumb enough not to heed them. and perhaps that's because i've gotten away with this style of reckless behavior for so long. tsk. tsk. damn my good luck it does nothing for growth and change. (just kidding good luck, please stay with me. i love you)

i still remember being in grad school. it seemed i was always the last one to start projects. putting things off till i had almost no time to complete them. other classmates would say "you're only starting that now?!" and i'd do everything within my power not to glare them down with my meanest stink eye. time after time, despite promising myself i'd be better next time i'd find myself at the exact same place. racing the clock. too much to do and too little time. freaking out, stressing out, and then somehow, someway completing whatever needed to be completed just in the nick of time and just well enough to be successful.

and here i am doing it again. only the stakes are much higher.

the worst part is, each time i do this i vow to be more responsible, more organized, more prompt. and each time i end up being a big fat liar. and i know with each broken promise i further test and taunt fate. i worry that one day soon she's going to make me pay for my bad behaviors and laugh as i fall flat on my face.

i'm just really hoping that this one day soon, won't be wednesday.

so again. and this time i really really mean it. dear fate; please, please, please let me pass this test and i promise with all my heart i'll be better, more responsible and less rushed next time. i'll be that girl that gets her work done ahead of time. that's organized, structured, and prompt. that never ever procrastinates again.

pleeeeeeeaaaasssssseeeee.

Romantic conversations.... umm sorta

2009-09-11T00:39:00.000-07:00

While I don't write about it much, I am hopelessly in love with my boyfriend, Erik. We went on our first date on May 15, 09 and moved in together just last month. It's been a whirlwind of fun, romance, moments of challenge and love. I feel incredibly lucky.

I could go on and on about the many things I love about him, but I much prefer to tease. One of the things that cracks me up most about Erik is that every now and then he'll make a serious declaration of his love but it comes out all wrong.

I still remember our first kiss. It was the night of our first date. Immediately after he kissed me, he said something about "okay, well let's just be friends if anything." He was trying to convey that he still wanted to keep me as a friend even if things didn't work out romantically, but his words were all wrong. That's the last thing a girl wants to hear after a first kiss! Let's be friends?! (Wtf?) Fortunately, I could understand his intent, and knew what he meant, and it makes for funny and endearing memories.

Here are a couple other "romantic" conversations with Erik.

A couple months ago a friend and I were talking about marriage and engagements. We were talking about another friend who may be engaged soon, Erik was present and listened and participated in the conversation. A lot of times the conversation involved my girlfriend and I sharing about how we want things to be when we get engaged or married. I felt a little worried that all the marriage talk might freak Erik out so when we got home, I tried to reassure him that I was not looking for him to propose and he could be in this relationship without the intent to one day marry me. This was his response:

Erik: You know, I was thinking about it the other day actually, and if someone had a gun to my head and I had to choose between marrying you or never seeing or talking to you again, I would marry you.

Me: Thanks. So... if you had to choose between death or marrying me, you would choose to marry me?

Erik: No, what's death got to do with it? If I had to choose between never seeing you again or marrying you, I would marry you.

Me: What's the gun against your head for?

Erik: I don't know, it was there when I thought about it. Never mind, this is coming out all wrong.

Erik just started school again. He's going to HPU to become a nurse. It's a predominantly female profession so he's often 1 of 3-4 guys in most of his classes. Last night's romantic declaration went as follows:

Erik: So you know, I was checking out all the hot girls in my class, and I want you to know that I feel very happy and lucky to be with you.

Me: So, you were checking out all the hot girls in your class?

Erik: Damnit, that's not what I meant.

Such romance, eh?

But, while the boy does have an extraordinary skill for sticking his foot in his mouth, he is very good to me, and even begrudgingly allows me to post whatever I like about him, so I guess it's a fair trade.

Shyness

2009-08-19T11:10:00.001-07:00

I just started working at Oliver, the wine shop next to the Olive Tree. Last night I finished day 3 on the job. Although it's still early, I think I'm going to love this job. It's simple, homey. Nice.

My co-workers are all really nice and I look forward to getting to know them. Become friends with them. I've already found myself endeared by each one of them.

But before that happens, I need to get past my shyness.

When I was a child I was super shy. I would blush, tilt my head down and often hide behind the legs of some adult. As an adolescent I was quiet as well. I stuck to reading books instead of socializing. Or at least I tried. Fortunately I was surrounded by boisterious friends, so I was never able to veer too far off into quiet girl land, but had I not been, I may have spent many of my teen years stuck in the library, instead of sitting at a picnic table, trying to read, while others would snatch the book out of my hands, and bring me back to reality. Back to interacting with others.

Reading through old yearbooks, many people commented on my quiet demeanor.

As an adult, I thought I'd overcome my shyness. I often think of myself as fairly outgoing. I actually enjoy meeting new people and I love being social. But last night, working at Oliver, I felt shy. I can't explain it. It's almost like a vise that grabs me, and though I want to open up, talk, joke, laugh and interact, I find myself locked in. Locked in what? I don't know. But every time I wanted to speak, my voice lost me. My words, though clear in my head, couldn't seem to make their way out. So instead I just smiled, hoping people would see that as my attempt to be friendly, while mute.

I'm sure it will pass with some time, and while it's a bit annoying, there is an odd familiarity there.

Okay, that's all for now. If you're ever down at Olive Tree (which I highly recommend, sooooo yummy) then please stop by next door and say "hi!."

Kimi's encounter

2009-07-20T22:53:00.001-07:00

this story is too cool not to post. ahhh. this is not the first time i've wished our technology was so advanced that we could take photos with our eyes. i would have loved to see this experience.

email from kimi:

I just wanted to write to you guys to share an experience I had yesterday in the water. It was utterly amazing, and so different from what I expected. I caught no fish yesterday and was kind of sad about that since my ego wants to be reassured that I'm on top of my game. Also I have so much to do, that even though I know I HAVE to dive, I kept feeling like it was a waste of a day because I have to do get so much work done for the festival this weekend.

But one thing made it all worth it.

I totally flirted with and almost fell inlove w/ a Tiger shark.

It was seriously one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

We were doing some blue water diving (deep water, cant' see/touch bottom). The boat just dropped me an Trav off and the other divers were still suiting up. We were by Kaena point, and the water was crystal clear.

I did a drop, just for the sake of diving deep and practicing, and when I was ascending I looked at Trav and he was pointing at something. I knew it wasn't an ono, because he wasn't sprinting w/ his gun.

I looked over and saw this huge mass just emerging up vertically towards the surface. I had no idea what it was but it moved so gracefully. I'm used to sharks making sharp short turns, and moving somewhat mechanically.

But this one just flowed w/ absolute grace until it finally hit the surface and turned broadside. I realized then it was the biggest tiger shark I had ever seen. I felt myself instinctually gravitate closer to Travis, but all I could think was "Wow!"

It was beautiful! I felt like I was in the best episode ever of Nat Geo. The water was so clear, that you could every detail of her(?) as she slowly drifted closer to us. Her fin broke the surface, and her colors and stripes were completely lit up. She was practically sparkling in the sun!
I just felt the urge to want to move closer to her. I wanted to just see how close I could get because she was so beautiful and big. Trav lifted the butt of his gun in the air (a sign for the boat to come pick us up)

And then I realized that we had to go. Because the boat was far, and if anything were to happen, we'd be screwed. Or if the other divers jumped in the water further down, and shot a fish, it would only take a couple of seconds for them to maybe have a very scary experience. So I raised my butt of my gun too, and felt a little scared an vulnerable, not knowing if the boat man was even paying attention.

But mainly, I just couldn't take my eyes off of her, and I was so awe struck by her beauty.
I heard the boat coming, and I just wanted the moment to last longer, but before we knew it, we looked up to see our crew checking on us. Trav said "you get on the boat first" and I looked back in her direction and she was gone.

But I feel so lucky to have seen that. I just wish it could've lasted longer.

The funny thing is that I'm afraid of sharks! Even the little ones (really little ones sometimes). Though you learn not to panic, they still just freak me out.

But this one drew me in, and I always thought if I saw a tiger that big, I'd crap my wetsuit. But it was probably the most magical moment I ever had while diving.

DOLPHINS!!!!

2009-06-26T10:40:00.000-07:00

The first time I swam with dolphins I was about 6 yrs old. It was with my sister and it wasn't really swimming, more just floating as we held on to the side of the boat.

My dad owned at 13 ft Boston Whaler that he'd take us out on anytime he got the chance. On that particular day, my dad, mom, Kimi, and I all piled into that little boat, and headed out to the Lighthouse Islands, a favorite fishing spot. On our way out, we saw a large school of dolphins running with the boat, and Kimi and I excitedly shouted that we wanted to swim with them. My dad raced the boat up ahead, and told us to quickly put on our masks and jump in the water. He positioned us perfectly, and Kimi and I hopped in and held on to the side of the boat watching the dolphins as they passed through us.

It's a memory that always sticks out in my head as one of my favorite ocean memories. I swear I made eye contact with some of those dolphins and that they even smiled at me. And I can still remember with vivid detail, the look of Kimi's smiling face in her bright pink mask and the sound of the dolphins. I can also remember and our own sounds of excitement as we squealed in delight and tried our best to imitate the dolphins.

I'd be curious to know if Kimi has the same memory of this event as I do...

Anyways, fast forward to yesterday.

Ahhhh, big fat dopey smile, hand claps, sighs, jumping up and down, and more squeals of excitement.

Yesterday was pure bliss.

Yesterday is another one of those moments that will be forever ingrained in my memories.

Yesterday, Erik took me out to his dolphin spot to swim and take pictures and it was sooooooo much fun.

Whether I'm 6 years old or 30 years old, there is something about dolphins that has me giddy and excited past the point of any composure. That has me so happy I drool.

The night before, excited and hopeful, I continually turned to Erik and said "Ohhh, I really hope we see them! Do you think we will? We will won't we?? Please tell me we will. I really really really want to see them!!!"

He cautioned me about not being too expectant and gave me a quick lecture about the fact that I shouldn't have the attitude of going out looking for something, but instead, should just take enjoyment out of the day and whatever it would bring. He might have even said something about the ocean being filled of so many things both big and small and to appreciate it all. But I can't say for sure, because I wasn't listening.

Instead, I waited till he was done talking (or quite possibly, cut him off mid sentence) and continued my conversation... "We'll see them, right? And Do you think they'll like me? I love dolphins. I hope they love me too. I hope they want to play with me and get close to me. Ohh, Erik, I hope they like me, they will won't they???"

He rolled his eyes, groaned and then ignored me.

The next morning came and I again stated over and over that I really hoped we would see them. Erik gave me that "don't get your hopes up too high" look, again reminding me that we'd see what we would see.

I felt nervous with expectation.

When we arrived at location, I crossed my fingers as I looked out toward the ocean. Within seconds my eyes made out the sight of dolphins swimming and jumping from shore. My heart immediately jumped into my throat. I hugged Erik, thanking him profusely, while he laughed at me and said "but we haven't even gotten in the water yet." I then shot him a look, stated "see, I knew we would see them!" and then nagged him to hurry up as I got my gear on as quickly as possible, and he readied everything.

I was frantic with happy excitement.

The swim out to the dolphin spot was about 200-300 yards and as soon as we got in the water, I took off quickly. Occasionally looking back to see where Erik was, but being too excited to slow down and swim at an easy pace. He warned me not to burn myself out, but I couldn't help it. It was impossible for me to slow down.

Funny thing is, that as much as I was rushing, we made it to the spot at the same time, him calm, me huffing and puffing. I reminded myself of one of those drivers that speeds in front of everyone only to be stuck at the same traffic light up ahead.

And then we were there.

And so were they.

And it was so so cool.

Before I knew it, I was in dolphin soup. The water was churning with dolphins podding up and swimming all around us everywhere. I first saw then from above and then watched as they came into view underwater. Instead of letting them surround me, I chased after them quickly, trying to keep up, and get as close to them as I could.

It was such an amazing experience. Tons and tons of dolphins all around me. Dolphins jumping, swimming, mating and playing with one another. At one point, swimming behind them, I even got pooped on, and yes, even that, as gross as it may sound, was completely wonderful to me.

As time when by and my legs burned from kicking so hard, I learned to copy Erik and calm myself down and allow the dolphins and come and go as they pleased, taking shots of them when I could. Which actually allowed me to get closer and get better shots.

In moments, I completely forgot about my camera, too mesmerized by their beauty and playful spirits. And just floated, slack jawed, in complete awe.

It was soooooooo much fun.

And that's all. I want to write more, but it will all the the same thing.

Cool. Awesome. Amazing. Wonderful. Fun. Beautiful. Cool (again), Etc. Etc.

Ahhh, I'm so happy though. Still giddy and drooling and feeling so lucky.

It's an experience I hope everyone can have. Maybe not dolphins, per say, but any experience that has one filled with pure excitement and joy.

Okay, enought of my rambling. Here are some pictures from the day:

(Erik with a dolphin jumping in the distance)

(photo by Erik)

dolphins mating (bow chica bow wow)

me and my new friends (photo by Erik)

me again (photo by Erik )

descent (photo by Erik)

look closely toward the top of this photo and you can see the dolphin pooping

hiiiii little guy!

more dolphins. ahhhh.

close up. hiiii! again

light reflections

topsy turvey

Such a fun fun day.

Woeful complainy blah blah blahing

2009-06-22T13:30:00.000-07:00

I'm way behind in my blah blah blahs... in the past couple weeks I've gone to Maui and Kauai. I've taken pictures of things underwater, laughed with friends, had pranks played on me at work and eaten good food. All blah blah blah worthy.

One should, in my opinion, never under estimate the power of blah blah blahs... They may seem little and insignificant, but they are the moments that make up the details of our lives. Like grains of sand contributing to the beach. Drops of salt water contributing to the ocean. Like breaths of air that give us life.

So easily forgotten, but so much a part of the whole.

I want to remember the little things as much as the big things. I want to find the same pleasure in the quiet easily missed moments as I do in the loud "I'll never ever forget this" moments.

But I've been tired and unmotivated and my blog is being neglected. I'm losing inspiration and feeling mundane.

Last night I had to write a piece themed "in search of..." I was disappointed as it didn't come out very well. I sent it in anyway, but cringed hitting the button. It was a shame. My whole life seems to be one big in search of game. I thought the piece would come easily to me.

The thing is, I don't quite know how to find whatever it is I'm searching for even when it's a search to find what I'm in search of.

Huh?

I know.

Sometimes I lose myself too.

Today's woe- writing.

Yes, this is another blog about poor non-writing me. How many of these have I written so far?

The answer: too many.

If you don't like your current situation then change it.

Okay, but how?

One of my favorite writers, Jenn Hee, wrote this piece on her blog: http://www.chooseourownadventure.com/?p=473. I loved it. Loved losing and finding myself in it.

Like her, I miss writing the way I used to and I understand her sentiments about her blog. About how some things, as great as they were, just don't last forever, but still, you want to keep it going, and you try, but when a thing has run it's course, it's run it's course. Although, maybe Jenn wasn't really saying that, and it's just me sticking my stuff into someone else's words. Using her as an ally so that I don't sound so alone in my silliness.

Silly:

cockamamie: ludicrous, foolish; "gave me a cockamamie reason for not going"; "wore a goofy hat"; "a silly idea"; "some wacky plan for selling more ...
pathetic: inspiring scornful pity; "how silly an ardent and unsuccessful wooer can be especially if he is getting on in years"- Dashiell Hammett
a word used for misbehaving children; "don't be a silly"

Is it cockamamie that I miss my myspace blog? Is it pathetic?

Wait. Don't answer that. I don't really want to know.

The misbehaving child in me, has to whine about it. I miss that old blog. My place for everything. My blah blah blahs, back when they weren't so focused in on actual blah blah blahs.

But really, more than that, I miss who I was when I had that blog and contributed to it on irregular whims. I miss waking up in the middle of the night with a sort of frenzy in my fingers needing to type out the things in my head. It didn't matter if what I wrote was good nor not, it just felt good to write.

My daily blah blah blahs, despite my beach and ocean analogy, are beginning to feel like exactly what they are. Blah blah blah.

We'll see though. I am moody, wishy washy and apt to change my mind a hundred times. I'm the girl who tries on 6 different outfits only to go back to the very first one.

Maybe I'll change this blog once again. Maybe it will be the Daily Blah blah blahs "and More." The "and more" could hold an infinite number of undefined possiblities.

Isn't it funny how two little words can make such a difference?

"I" is just me, but you follow it with two words and suddenly everything changes. It becomes a statement of one's being (I am tired). A promise of unconditional feeling (I love you). A knife with which to cut some one down with (I hate you). An ending (I am done.)

With two words we can change the world.

With 773 words we can create a longwinded complaining blog.

Ahhh words. Can you see why I love them so?

Commercial Sunday

2009-06-02T01:07:00.000-07:00

Malia has a gift for finding fun and random opportunities. Earlier this week she emailed the girls about an opportunity to participate in a commercial for Tenkaippin Ramen. Although I'm usually a little camera shy, I couldn't help but jump at the opportunity. One, I really like Tenkaippin's ramen and two, I thought it would be really cool to be in a commercial with a bunch of my friends.

So on Sunday I met Malia, Hazel, Chessa, Min, Kim and Wisa down at the restaurant. There were four other girls there and one guy, and we ate ramen, fried rice and gyoza as we filmed the commercial and caught up on each other's weekends. It was quite fun. I'm both a little scared and very excited to see how the commercial comes out.

just your average ramen shop filled with tons of girls

cutie pies hazel and malia

the lovely ms. chessa and me

chessa and i filled hazel in on "shakerface"

mmm... ramen

the entire crew

my girls

Saturday fun

2009-05-31T17:22:00.000-07:00

Saturday I woke up to the sticky hotness of the summer morning. Desperately needing cool off and avoid wasting the day away, I went for a short dive with Erik. I've been wanting to go out diving with him for a while now, as he's an amazing photographer (you can check out his stuff here: http://www.travelblog.org/Bloggers/esaav22 ) and I'm hoping that in time, some of his skills might rub off on me.

He lent me his camera and let me have a go. It was fun, but I can tell already that it's going to be a long while before I master the art of underwater photo-taking. Erik took me to a secret spot that often has whitetip reef sharks chilling in the shallow, but yesterday we were out of luck. We did, however, see some small creatures here and there which was fun. The underwater world has always been fascinating to me, and it was even more so with a camera in my hands. Also, for the first time, I wasn't afraid to get close up to an eel... sure it was a baby eel, but still, I was proud of myself. The photos below are nothing great, but hopefully with more practice I'll get the hang of it.

erik in action

specks of silver

shrimp

baby eel

Later in the day I went surfing with Laarni out at Cliffs. Summer is here, and that means waves in town as well as big crowds. Despite the crowd, it was a lot of fun, and a lot of exercise. I forgot my leash, so I got to practice both surfing and swimming.

After that, we got ready to head out to Boardriders Kailua to support Garrett, my sister's bf, and his band Potluck. It was a once in a ten year time event. Garrett and his friends used to rock out on a regular basis back in the day. Last night they did their first and last reunion show. Knowing Garrett as I know him (quiet and almost shy in moments) I couldn't imagine him as the lead singer of a once popular punkrock band. I kept saying to others "I'm so excited and curious to see this!"

My curiousity came to an end last night and I have to say, it was AWESOME. I was really really impressed. It makes me kind of sad that this was a one time event.

Also, it was eww worthy cute to see my sister swoon over her bf.

friends gathering to cheer on garrett... check out how laarni drinks her beer

potluck groupies

hazel with her potluck t-shirt from 1999 (she used to watch them back in the day)

Potluck (john, arie, garret and basil on the drums)

blurry rockstar garrett

his #1 adoring fan

And then we headed back over the Pali into town... it was all in all a great Saturday from start to finish.

back through the tunnel into town (photo by laarni)

Art After Dark, Shaker Face and Amos Lee

2009-05-30T18:47:00.000-07:00

Friday, May 29

Went out to Art After Dark with the girls. I've been attending this event pretty consistently for the past couple months and really like it. I don't know why... it starts and ends too early, the cover is $10, the drink lines are long and the place gets hot, but still... every last Friday of the month, I find myself excited for AAD. To me it's just F-U-N.

art after dark peeps

my peeps @ art after dark

Earlier in the week Chessa told me about this blogsite she found called Shakerface... I don't have a link but my google search lead me to this site: http://www.e4.com/e4site/doitandwin/1fac374781f0c26e9ee148e43fe13a04/entry-terms.e4. Basically the idea is to relax your face and shake it side to side while a friend takes a picture. It leads to some pretty ridiculous and unflattering photos, but that's the whole purpose. It's all about the dorky fun. When Chessa sent me an email about it, I immediately got excited and promised to bring my camera out. You're actually not supposed to smile when you make your shakerface, but that was a near impossible feat for us.

chessa's shakerface

heidi's shakerface

malia's shakerface

laarni's shakerface

my shakerface

kim's funnyface

double shakerface w laarni and heidi

double shakerface with kim and malia s.

What's funny is that shakerface bears a striking resemblance to drunkface... the next time someone catches a bad drunk photo of me, I'm going to lie and say "I wasn't drunk, I was just doing my shakerface!"

And if that wasn't dorking it out enough, as we waited in line to grab our drinks, a framed opening caught our eye, so of course we had to strike our poses there as well...

me

laarni (doesn't she look like she's posing for her driver's license photo?)

heidi- aww such a cutie

a rambunctious looking chessa

At AAD they gave out free Honolulu Magazines.. when I saw the subject I found Heidi and made her take a photo for me. I wish I had gotten Kim in there as well.

we know where the good teachers are at!

After that we headed downtown to see one of my swoon-worthy musical artists, Amos Lee. He played at Next Door and while I love, love, love his stuff in my ipod or cd player, it wasn't as great at Next Door... He did a good job and was a nice live performer, but the mood was a bit too mellow and the venue didn't match. Laarni repeatedly whispered to me that it'd be the perfect concert if she were out on a grass lawn in a hammock and while I just gave her stink eye each time she said it and told her "shhh," deep down inside, I had to admit she was right.

Still though, it was fun for me.

the streets of downtown honolulu

a blurry amos lee

And that is all for now. I hope every one's weekends are off to a great start.

home on maui

2009-05-28T10:55:00.001-07:00

i flew home to maui this past weekend (5/22-5/25) to visit the familia and help my dad celebrate his 62nd birthday.

for the past 4-5 years my dad has been working on his dream house.

a couple months ago he and my mom finally moved into it. it's a magnificent house and going home this time felt more like going to some fancy hotel rather than actually going home.

i'm really proud of my dad. he started off his business with nothing more than a wheelbarrow and a hand mixer but from there continued to build and build. both his business and his life.

he and my mom remind me of that "easy street" song http://www.imeem.com/shakilama/music/5rxHHuJN/hawaiian-reggae-easy-street/ if you've never heard it,click the link. it's a cute song.

one of the things i really admire about my parents is that no matter what the circumstance, or what our economic status has been, their focus has always been on having fun and making the most of whatever we have.

and truth be told as much as i love this new lavish house, the haiku house is still my favorite house that i've lived it. mostly because it hosts some of my fondest memories. from the chickens, cows, pet pig named muddy who later got turned into dinner (very sad story actually), and other farm animals, to the irrigation ditch behind our house that we used to play in and fish for crawdads and prawns... to fishing and diving weekly for food and picking fruit to sell to the juice companies. the haiku house was in my opinion, the perfect way to grow up.

i still remember as a little girl having to run and grab the pots everytime it would rain so that we could catch the drips. to this day, the sound of water hitting a tin roof is still one of my favorite sounds.

haiku house... a place where our early childhood memoires were born

but, that being said. the new house is really cool too. it's big and pretty and when i'm in it i feel rich, and it's a weird feeling. almost like i'm an imposter in someone else's house.

keokea house... just a slight upgrade

in addition to being all big and lavish, it's also got a farm feel to it which i absolutely love. we've got goats and sheep and lots of raw land that holds a lot of promise and potential. there's also deer, wild turkeys, pheasants and franklins.

it was so nice to wake up early every morning and breathe in the cool kula air as i drank my coffee, then run down to the pasture to feed the goats and sheep.

my herd

this is coco, she's my favorite of the bunch

my maui weekend went as follows... i arrived on friday night and hung out with my parents. the next day i played farm girl and then helped my mom prepare for my dad's birthday bbq. i invited tawny and sesa to come over. tawny is my dear friend i've known since the 3rd grade and sesa i've known since my sophomore year in high school. words cannot express the love i have for these girls. it was really nice to see them again.

both are amazing mothers, and tawny brought her girls (naia and ariel) and sesa brought her boys (nate and seth). the kids had a ball running around wreaking havoc. i had a ball watching them and enjoying their fresh young energy. it was cute to see tawny and sesa in their kids' features and personalities.

sesa, tawny and me

naia, seth, ariel-- such cuties

nate-dawg. so well behaved and polite

at one point i let the little one's have my camera and allowed them to take one "money shot" each.

ariel's "money shot"

seth's "money shot"

naia's "money shot"

while i hung with the kids and tawny and sesa, my dad and his friends cruised out on the lanai. it's fun to watch my parents with their friends. listening to the banter, teasing and smack talking made me think a lot of my own frienships and how i hope they'll continue strong until my 62nd birthday and beyond.

wooden chopstick candle

what could he possibly be wishing for? he's already got me as a daughter heh heh ;)

the next day i visited my friend faith and her boyfriend and cruised with them down to the stretch of beaches between maalaea and kihei. faith had to meet up with some friends, and i was feeling quiet, so i took a long walk down the beach and tried to get a good shot of sandcrabs... no luck but i did make friends with a starfish.

star fishy friend

the following day i had to fly out in the morning, so my dad and i woke up early to make a birdhouse. one of my mom's complaints about the house was about the birdshit on the lanai, so we tried to remedy the situation. i learned a few things about skill saws the hard way, as i got suckerpunched by a flying piece of wood, while my dad shook his head. after that incident i left the cutting to him and took to gluing, screwing and painting.

a house for birds. plan to decorate it more when i go back

and that was that. my maui blah blah blah's... mellow. fun. heartwarming.

Unemployment Mondays II

2009-05-20T09:39:00.000-07:00

My unemployment Mondays continue... this past Monday was Jess Press's birthday. Happy 30th Jess!!! On this day, I went to sewing class in the morning and then later went on a short hike with a friend.

While on the hike I got giddly excited when I saw this flower:

It's the mountain version of the Naupaka plant. My mom told me the story about the plants when I was a little girl, and I've always loved the romance behind it.

My mother's retelling of this myth goes as follows...

A long time ago, back in ancient Hawaiian days, there were two beautiful lovers who were deeply devoted to one another. Pele took interest in the man, and pursued him for his returned interest. Despite Pele's beauty and power, the man was loyal and faithful and denied her which angered Pele greatly. And so, she separated them, chasing one to the mountains and one to the ocean. For if she couldn't have him, she'd be damned if she'd allow the two of them to be together...

Separated and unable to see each other, both lovers were filled with grief. Without each other, they did not feel whole... they could not go on... And so they died of broken hearts and where their bodies lay to rest, a Naupaka plant grew... and the flowers, like the lovers with out each other, were incomplete halves.

Kinda makes you wonder if the writers of Jerry McGuire got their inspiration from the legend of the Naupaka plant, huh? ;)

Growing up and even now, I've always seen the beach version of Naupaka plants. The leaves are good for cleaning/defogging your diving masks... but up until today I've never seen the mountain version. I was beginning to wonder if it really did exist.

Congratulations Dr. Massarotti!!

2009-05-20T01:01:00.000-07:00

Sunday, May 18th...

I still remember when I first met Haane... it was when I first moved to Oahu, about 6 years ago. She and I paddled for Hui Lanakila and were in the same crew. She was good friends with Brianne, and while I knew her and liked her, it wasn't until a random trip to San Diego, that I fell in love with her as a friend.

Since then, she's become a large part of my life. We've seen each other through good times, bad times and all those in between times. We've been there to bear witness to the stories of each other's lives... seen each other's ups and downs, set backs and accomplishments. I still remember when she first decided that she wanted to go to Med School...

I was incredibly happy and proud to watch Haane through another accomplishment on Sunday. My heart swelled with pride. It's been fun and interesting to watch her journey through school. To live vicariously through her experiences, to hear about the first time she worked with a patient, the first time she had to do a prostate examination, the first time she delivered a baby by Cesarean, and so much more. Her enthusiasm and drive for learning have always impressed and inspired me.

And so, congratulations Haane!!! And, if anyone needs a good surgeon, well, I know one ;)

Yay!!! Check out the "MD" after her name!

Haane walking the line

Mother-daughter hug for the lei presentation

Haane groupies

Dr. Massarotti!!!!

Happy Birthday Kimi!

2009-05-18T10:50:00.000-07:00

Saturday, May 16 was Kimi's 29th birthday. It was also the Annual Gene Higa Skindiver Tournament. Kimi was entered not only in the dive tournament but also in an Iron Chef challenge. So we gathered down in Waialua to cheer her on and celebrate another year of life.

It was such a good day. The sun was scorching, but we had enough ice cold beers to cool us down. It was so good to see everyone come out for the occasion. My parents even flew out to surprise Kimi. My heart was filled with happiness the whole day through.

happy birthday kiddo! it was hard not to contain my mushiness

Cory, Malia and Matty-san

Aww Minor... Less than 1 yrs old and I can already tell he's going to be a heartbreaker

I should have taken more pictures of the fish during the weigh-in. There were over 60 teams of 2 that competed and some of the catches were amazingly impressive. Andy and his partner speared some big Mahi... another guy speared a 30 something lb shibi... Jason Hijirada brought in the head of a Kahala, as the rest of the fish got eaten by a shark while they were diving.

I'm always impressed with the skill of the divers and the stories they tell. There's always a general air of excitement and hope... Excitement to see what everyone brought in, and the hope that theirs will be the winning catch. I also love the teasing and banter that goes along with the weigh-ins.

Fish weigh-in

Check it out, this fish has two tails!!

Kimi entered the 3 prong division with her friend George. They didn't place, but they did good.

After the weigh-in, Kimi and Kalei challenged Terrance and Terry in the Iron Chef Competition. This was the second competition that Skindiver's done and they really stepped it up this year in terms of making it professional. Dramatic music, loud speaker announcements, clothed tables... it was pretty cool. I loved that they played "Eye of the Tiger" as the chefs competed against one another.

The secret ingredients were Mu and Tako. Also the chefs had to use Primo Beer in one of the dishes they made.

Spectators spetating the spectacle.

Malia, Bri and my Mom had front row seats

Hazel, Kim, Jasmine, Laarni and Chessa came out to support Team Kimi

There's our girl, rockin it in front of the camera

She and Kalei took this Tako...

And made Tako Tacos! (both clever and tasty)

And here's what they did with the Mu... mmm

Their dishes were quite impressive, but the competition was steep...

Terrance's Tako Ceviche

Terrance's Mu Satay (Check out the presentation!)

I have to admit. Although I had complete faith in Kimi's dishes, I did get a little nervous when I saw what the other team had created... But team Kimi won!!

Good job Chefs!

And after that, it was finally time for the bday girl to relax, hang out with friends and family and enjoy the rest of her day...

La Werner Familia

My mom, isn't she cute?

My dad... he's not too shabby either

Pretty girls, Min and Kim

Jasmine shooting the fly with Forest. Yeah... They're cute

Min, Jazzy, Me, Laarni

Bri and Chessa

Hazel giving Kimi her gift

Cheers to the Bday Girl!!

As day turned to evening, most of the girls left to go to Haane's graduation (she just graduated from Med school that day!--- I'm so proud of her). But a few of us stuck around to hang with Kimi and continue the birthday celebrations. Leanne won the award for being the fun girl of the night. She and Kimi danced the night away.

Leanne with her "let's go!" pose

Dancing queens!

Cutie Pies

A great great day! This past weekend was such a fun one filled with celebration.

Next to come, Haane's convocation. I missed her graduation and grad party, but was fortunately able to make it to the convocation.

unemployment mondays

2009-05-11T19:28:00.000-07:00

one of the jobs i work for lost a significant portion of it's funding due to the recession and the state's budget cuts. because of that, i've lost my mondays at work. it's a little scary, as it means i'm now out a good $500 or so each month, but i've decided that for all of may, i'm going to enjoy having my mondays off and then when june comes around, i'm going to buckle down and find another job.

and so today was my unemployment monday, and it was a great day...

my sister was in town b/c she was featured on the morning show on KHON. she stopped by with the opelu kala ceviche she made and as we ate breakfast, we conjoured up our plans for the day.

freshly made opelu kala ceviche

we started off with the mariner's ridge hike. it's another favorite of mine because it's relatively short, but it provides a good workout and it's got beautiful views. it was fun to do it with kimi today; though she's afraid of heights, i was able to convince kimi to take some on edge pictures.

rubbah slippahs. that's how we do em

ridge line

happy feet

end view

kimi enjoying life on the edge

after that we took a quick dip at sandys. the water was clean and beautiful.

and then, we went to sara's house and enjoyed some more ceviche, some ice cold primos that kimi had scored from doing the morning show, and a game of wii bowling (i lost).

sara just quit her job last week, so she's on unemployment mondays as well, and malia was able to stop by on her break between jobs.

all in all it was a great cruise session day. i'm looking forward to monday's for the rest of this may, and in the meantime if anyone hears of a part time job that seems like my kind of thing, please let me know! (thanks)

a busy and lovely sunday

2009-05-11T01:58:00.000-07:00

what is it that has me compelled to write about everything? i don't know. but here i go.

breakfast club:

i'm on a mission to find the best eggs benedict in town. i don't know how i got started on this, but for some reason i like these little missions. last week i went to Ryans with kira, chessa and laarni. today it was Lulu's with laarni, kira, aunty trudy (kira's mom) and andy.

my ruling... ehh. it was okay. i'd rate it a 5 on a scale of 1-10. it looks good, but in my opinion, Ryans was better, and i'm convinced there's even better out there. please let me know your suggestions, and if you'd like to join me in my quest.

half traditional, half crab cake benedict

go take a hike:

later in the afternoon i did the palolo/kaau crater hike solo. it felt soooo good. it's been a long time since i've done anything solo, aside from daily errands and cruising at home. the palolo hike is a favorite of mine... it was one of the first hikes i did when i first moved here. today was a gorgeous day to go hiking and it was nice to have time alone with my thoughts as i walked through nature's beauty.

second waterfall

plaque on top of the second waterfall... it's sad, but also kind of cool. i love how it says "the world was her neighborhood"

view of palolo valley... what a great valley

3rd waterfall

there's ka`au crater, but where are the boys? heheh (okay, cheesy joke, sorry)

mountain apple blossom

a new momma and a mother's day dinner:

after the hike, i quickly cooked and got ready and then went off to see Suegi. she had a beautiful little baby boy named Sage yesterday. congrats to her and Todd! it' s so exciting to see them take this next step. i wish i had pictures.

after that, i rushed over to garrett's parents' house for a sunday mother's day dinner. today i missed my mom big time. she and my dad are in vegas, and though i called, we did nothing more than exchange voicemails... it was nice to be with my surrogate family and enjoy a delicious dinner with them.

garrett's grandma was there, and i enjoyed talking story with her. she's 93 and really sharp. at one point talking to her, i felt myself getting choked up, as it made me miss my grandma so much. talking to her was interesting, she shared about being so old and feeling a bit ready to go into the next world, except, she knows she's healthy, and it's to be a while before her departure. it was interesting to hear her perspective. she's a happy lady, but i suppose she's been here long enough and she's ready for what's next. as i sat listening to her, i wondered what my thoughts would be when i am her age, given that i make it to her age. i also thought about possibly applying for a job at hospice.

and that was that... there's more actually, but this has already been too much.

happy mother's day all! i hope it was a great one.

switcheroo

2009-05-10T13:13:00.000-07:00

instead of creating yet another blog, i've decided to change this site... instead of a collection of sister/family memories, it will be a whim of writings of not only memories, but the day to day, random ideas, rambles, thoughts on life, etc, etc.

essentially it will be what my myspace used to be. a place for everything i choose to write about.

from the fire

2009-02-26T10:55:00.000-08:00

my parents' love story...is best told by my mom. my version will do it no justice.

but still. i want it written down.

my mother...she met my dad when she was near my age now (late 20's, early 30's). she was divorced with a young son. she had no money. she had little more than nothing. after she found her husband cheating on her, she left quietly. told him she was going. then did the dishes. folded the laundry. made his dinner and even his lunch for the next day. and walked away.

when she and my dad met, she was living in a tent in a field.

my father...he moved to maui in the early 70's with nothing more than a backpack and $20. he carried the weight of his recent divorce and a promise never to settle again. he was younger than i am now... he was a viet nam vet with stories he still, to this day, will not tell.

the meeting...

they met at a party.the story goes like this...

my dad saw my mom getting hit on by a pushy guy. it was obvious she was uncomfortable. so he swooped in to save her. he said something to her in japanese, still new to the island and unaware of the difference between local japanee and japanee-japanese. i don't think she understood what he said.

regardless. they hit it off.

time went by.

days turned into weeks, months, years.

(this is the part of the story where i shake my head at my dad and say "you were such a player")

during this time, my parents fell somewhere between friends and lovers. (depending on the moment). they were a series of push and pull. with a series of other people in between.my dad stayed committed to his promise not to settle down. my mom, lived her life.

she tells me that she knew early on that she loved him... she always reiterates that he was one of the only men that could make her laugh. her heart stayed open to him, but as a single mother trying to get by, romance and love seemed frivolous at the time. she kept her focus on making ends meet and raising her son. that in itself took up most of her time.

despite all that lay in between, there was, in my mind, an invisible rope that tied them together. that somehow, someway, always had them coming back to one another.

a walk on the beach...

(this is my favorite part of the story)

i would be lying if i were to say this was the turning point in their relationship. truth is. it was before this moment that my dad figured out that my mom was the woman for him. but whenever i retell this story i usually say

it was in this moment he realized just how much he loved her

this scene takes place in laparouse. evening time. i imagine the sun is setting and the sky is a brilliant orange. they're at the beach.

it is my mom, my dad and my brother. they go off on their own to collect firewood. my mom walks on the dirt. and suddenly, unexpectedly, sinks in. she is swallowed by heat and an immense pain that she describes as a thousand red ants biting her. her heart beats frantically. she tries to get out of the sand but she can't. she calls out for help.

necessary background information:
someone who came before must have built a fire on the beach, then attempted to put it out by covering it with sand. however, instead of putting the fire out, they uknowingly created an underground fire pit approximately 3 feet deep and 6 feet wide. one that was not evident, until my mother fell into it.

back to the suspense

my dad hears her screams and comes running. comes in for the rescue. she is screaming in pain. everytime she tries to pull herself out, she falls deeper in, getting more burned. it is an invisible fire. only heat. and had my dad not responded to the terror in her voice, he might not had known how dire the situation was.

here's the gnarly part

and so, he reaches into the pit. he grabs my mother's hand to pull her out but the skin from her wrist to her forearm, due to the burns, comes off in his hands. she falls back in.he tries again and again and finally gets her out.

they drive to the hospital. the whole way my mom tries to stay calm. she starts telling my dad lists of things he will need to do the following day. reminds him of a birthday party my brother is going to. tells him what clothes to dress him in. where the present is.

they arrive to the hospital. it sinks in just how injured she is... her feet are burnt so badly they need to take skin grafts from thigh. there is some concern of whether or not she will survive. she stays for six weeks. the recovery process is immense, but of course, she survives.

this is the part where is like to say

my dad realized in that moment that if he were to lose my mom, he wouldn't know what to do. that life without her would not be one worth living.

several years later they have me. another year following, my sister.

i grow up never knowing my parents not to love one another. never seeing them anything less than a united front, even at times when they disagreed.

i never knew them as they were before the fire.all i have are the stories. the stories that led them to each other. to me. to my sister. to life as i have always known it.

as a child i still remember the tenderness of the white scars on my mom's arms and feet. they took forever to heal. i remember softly rubbing them and making her tell me the story of how she got them over and over again.

to this day i am always cautious about properly putting out out fires on the beach. though i am forever grateful on some level for the one that played a crucial role in the making of my life.

lost in the woods

2009-01-21T10:00:00.001-08:00

i knew i loved her, but sometimes i hated her.

i am 19. kimi 18... it is 1998.

i'm back home for summer. it's the year after my freshman year in college. it's good to be home. the days are warm and the times are fun. but still... as much fun as we have, kimi and i fight like cats and dogs. or maybe just dogs... of the female variety.

i read a lot. different books that make my mind wander into different possibilities.

one book talks of a native tribe who's right of passage into adulthood included taking a young boy out deep into the woods and leaving him there. if he returned alive, he was a man. if he didn't... well, he was neither boy nor man, i suppose.

i don't know what we were fighting about on this particular day. our fights were always nothings turned into big somethings that usually went like this: hurt feelings, angry words, occasional pushes and punches, followed by "leave me alone!!" "i can't stand you!!" "you're such a *&@#!" later followed by *sob* *sniffle* "i'm sorry... i love you... let's not fight."

on this particular day, we were in the middle of "leave me alone, i can't stand you, i need my space. you're such a *&@#!"

"i'm leaving." i tell her. and share my plans about going for a long hike in the woods. "when will you be back?" she demands. "i don't know." i retort and tell her about the boy in the book i was reading. "well fine!" she says. "but i'm coming with you. you can't just take the car and go" (we shared a car at that time).

"fine. but i dont' want you by me."
"fine. i don't even want to be by you."
"good."
"good."

angry looks and stink eye galore.

we drive to to the west maui mountains. turn up a road and follow it into the back of the valley. we have no idea where we are, but find a trail and begin to walk. it's a valley, and a stream cuts through it. i take one side of the river, she takes the other. and as we walk we cut away from and back to the river, snaking our way deeper into the valley.

we glare at each other when one another is visible. but as the walk continues, our anger goes from a boil to a simmer. our glares and scowls soften and before we know it, one of us cracks a smile. and like a yawn, suddenly it becomes contagious.

we find a swimming hole. strip down and hop in. we truce. decide to be friends again. make our ammends.

and then we decide to continue walking... only i like my side of the river and she likes hers. so we stick to our sides, and continue on. this time feeling connected by the river between us instead of separated. as our trails wind, we get glimpses of each other, and then lose each other. after sometime, i am all alone. i don't give it much thought, and keep going.

the sun drops.

before i know it, it is dark and i have no idea where she is. "the river must have split" i think to myself. and i make my way back. calling for her, but hearing no response.

in no time, evening turns to night, and while i can make out the moon through the trees, it is a dark, dark night.

i can't see anything except for the shadowy trees, and i try my best to follow the river, shouting for her to no avail.

i fall several times, soaking myself and realizing it is pointless to search for her now. it's too dark. wait till morning.

and though i don't want to stop searching. stop going. i eventually decide to stop and crawl into a tree to sleep. my mind races. i'm worried about her. and i keep hoping that she's okay. what if she fell?... what if she got hurt?... what if i can't find her?

i think of how i'll explain this to my parents and i whisper a thousand prayers and make as many "i promise i'll never..." promises i can come up with. i pray to God, even though i'm not sure i believe in him. "please God, please... please let her be okay. i'm sorry. please. i'll do anything." and eventually i fall asleep in the middle of a prayer.

morning arrives and i wake with a start. scrambling quickly to my feet, i continue on in the direction of our car, hoping she's done the same. i'm shout with all my might calling her name over and over again "kimi!!!! kimi!!!!"

no answer.

panic strikes and tears start to well up. i call again. no answer. i am frantic.

then suddenly i hear my name "christy!!" in the distance. it's the most beautiful sound in the world. okay... well actually it's a scratchy, shrieky sound that's filled with panic, but in the moment, it's music to my ears. i try to shout back but my voice is gone. it sounds like i'm gasping for air. i run as fast as a i can in her direction, and finally find her.

we embrace each other. mirror back the same look a person has when they find something they've lost. relief, happiness, gratification. we smile, hug, sigh, laugh, and maybe even cry.

we make our way back to the car and back to life as we know it.

our right of passage into womanhood? i'm not sure. but into renewed appreciation, and less fighting for the rest of the summer, yes.

God Rock

2008-12-23T08:57:00.000-08:00

5 yrs old.

my sister and i explore through the woods behind our house.

we take our dog (sam) who we call wolf, and our cat (bobcat) who we call bobcat. the world is filled with wonderment and adventure and we lose ourselves in the trees and our imagination.

we go a little further today, into the woods behind a neighbor's house. and suddenly. there. in front of us. a boulder so big and round, that we are in awe. we marvel at our discovery and fall in love immediately.

somewhere in my 5 yr old child's mind, knowing this rock is special, i give it life. i whisper to kimi... "it's a god rock, we need to protect it."

and so we do.

in secret, we visit our rock every day.

we grow concern for this rock.

haiku is rainy, and we worry about our rock being wet and cold, so we steal blankets from the closet.

being that it's a "god" rock, we make sacrifices. kimi picks her treasured strawberries (that she doesn't even like to share with me) and puts them into her pretty shell jewelry box. a hefty sacrafice from a 4 yr old. and i... i donate my pack of colored pens that i adore. they have colors of aqua and tourquoise. i've never owned a pen set like this before. and i feel sad as i lay them at the base of the rock, but for me, there is no turning back. god rock deserves them.

we live in our new religion. worshiping this rock. playing around it, and finding comfort in a big round boulder that takes life in our imaginations.
and then we forget.

time goes by and the world, still filled with wonderment and adventure, continues to call.

and one day... many days later... our brother and cousin happen across our forgotten rock. happen across moldy wet blankets, ruined pens and a soggy jewelry box with rotten strawberries.

and later, when our mom demands to know what the hell we were doing. our words fall short. and suddenly the thought that a rock could be a god, seems, well... silly.

at 20, my sister and i will find our way back to this rock. sneaking through the yard that once was our home, into the woods that once were our playground, we will search for our god rock, and though older and wiser and less prone to believing in silly things, we will smile at each other and admit, that it is, even at 20 yrs of age, a damn impressive rock.