12-02-2012, 09:03 AM
It is an overcast morning. The sky is grey from horizon to horizon. This has robbed yesterday's cobalt sea of its hypnotizing glitter and turned it grey as well. Today's sea is almost indistinguishable from the sky. Today's sea dazzles no one. How quickly things change. So, with two shades of grey going on, and bracing myself for the other 48, I thought it might be a good time to indulge in a completely self-serving and solipsistic moment of reflection on my first year on the east side of Hawai'i Island. I think it is important to remember that everyone's experience here will be different based on their particular circumstances. These are just some random thoughts on my personal experience from the point of view of my emotional reaction to the island. For building tips, go to that forum!
1. This isn't paradise. I'm tired of hearing that.
That only exists in the minds of men and women, in the faith of true believers and in fabulous renaissance paintings commissioned by the church. That being said, there will be times when you think it just might be close enough. It does get confusing though. Are you looking at an image of paradise, or just one of Michelangelo's objects of desire against an artful and fanciful backdrop?
2. This place really is exotic.
The dictionary definition of "exotic" is "strikingly, excitingly, or mysteriously different or unusual." When you vacation here from the mainland, Hawai'i will not seem like where you came from. It may seem exotic. You would think that familiarity would lessen that sense of exoticism. Just the opposite. This is a deep, complex and beautiful culture, with its own special language (resurging weakly, but steadily). I think I was struck most profoundly by this when I humbly accompanied the men's chorus at Merrie Monarch just after the King and Queen entered to the sound of conch shells and were seated. I am a very good, chameleon-like traveler with an ability to blend in very well in my surroundings. In France, they thought I might be Spanish or Belgian because of my "accent". They never thought I was American. In New Orleans, they thought I was one of those dark-eyed cajun boys. And here, I can pass as well. But that sense of otherworldliness hasn't passed for a moment. Although I am blending in, I find that sense of exoticism just gets deeper for me. It is, indeed, exciting, mysterious and thrilling. And sometimes exhausting as a result. Part of me longs for the mundane.
3. Zero degrees of separation.
I am he as you are me as you are we and we are all together. It is difficult to keep a secret here. I am a very private person slow to reveal even the basics to another person (I think some of you will vouch for that). It is very rare that I open up completely to another person. In my former profession, I was a clamshell shut tight. You couldn't pry a confidence out of me. However, I am a very expressive and even gregarious shy person. Yes, there is such a thing.
So the challenge for me here has been that expressive side. I want to protect myself and, more importantly, others, but I want to express myself as well. On the mainland in a city of 6 million, that is easy. Here, it is more of a challenge. I am aware of the paradox of pleading for privacy (or at least complaining about the lack of it) while going on Punaweb to express it. I'm a bundle of contradictions, partly truth and mostly fiction. But my attempt to walk that line is genuine and my intentions are honorable. It is part of the challenge of living here.
My first boyfriend dragged me to New Orleans and pointed out that the many courtyards there that you barely glimpse from the street, added to its mystery (I would later solve the mystery and move back to San Francisco as a result). There are virtual courtyards here. Much takes place on the "down low", in the jungle, behind close doors. Instead of disappearing behind an ornate garden gate here, people just fade back into the jungle.
Even 14,000 foot mountains can hide in plain sight here.
The best friend here is one who will maintain your confidence in a small village with only a few degrees of separation between all of us. My challenge has been to express myself, while being that friend. Or perhaps, it is to live more openly while respecting the right of others to disappear into the jungle. You can do that here, too. Know everyone, or disappear. Both, oddly, are easy to do. Sometimes I feel like I am doing both.
4. (Almost) Everything grows here.
Stonefruit doesn't grow too well here. Fruits that need cold and have a hard center do not do that well here, with a few exceptions in certain locations. But everything grows a little wild here. People, too. If you have a side to you that is a little wild and unruly, you just might get spirited away here. You just might start vining all over the place. You might flower and fruit and seed and reseed. You might need someone to come and prune you back into something more humble and manageable. You might need to get shorn like a sheep. Don't bleat. It's unbecoming of you. When that happens, I assure you, you will grow back stronger than ever just like that shower tree I thought I pruned to the ground earlier this year, only to find it is five foot something in December. And flowering. Beautifully. In the wrong place. Dammit.
5. The People Here are Amazing
Those who were born here and those who were flown here are very interesting. I have never found more interesting or spiritually beautiful people in one single place, and I have lived in a lot of interesting places. You have to be careful here because you might run across something you have never seen before. How did Stevie Nicks put it in that one song where our articulate songbird gets quite speechless and starts stammering?: "I have never known what to say, how to say...seen anything today...I've never seen...anything...like YOU!"
I was talking to a friend -- complaining really-- about how unusual everyone was here on the island and that sometimes I felt like I was in the middle of a vampire colony --everyone seemed so exceedingly different. He said "Well, yes, but then you wake up and find that you are one of them". I scoffed at that notion then.
But now I realize. I am. I need no longer stare in abject admiration or fascination at all of the interesting people around me. I might be one of them. Thank God I got bit.
It has been an interesting year. At times, I felt as if the ocean were crashing through me and out the other side. I have been stunned by random rainbows, by immense halos around the moon, and by the vision of a smokey goddess.
And, yes. It is true. You knew this already. I am Kelena. Or Kalena if you want. The latter means "talented". It does not mean "yellow". That is just "lena" and perhaps the article in front of it would make it "ka lena". Anyway, I wish you all beautiful things. A me aloha au ia 'oe. Aloha no. Aloha no. Aloha no.
1. This isn't paradise. I'm tired of hearing that.
That only exists in the minds of men and women, in the faith of true believers and in fabulous renaissance paintings commissioned by the church. That being said, there will be times when you think it just might be close enough. It does get confusing though. Are you looking at an image of paradise, or just one of Michelangelo's objects of desire against an artful and fanciful backdrop?
2. This place really is exotic.
The dictionary definition of "exotic" is "strikingly, excitingly, or mysteriously different or unusual." When you vacation here from the mainland, Hawai'i will not seem like where you came from. It may seem exotic. You would think that familiarity would lessen that sense of exoticism. Just the opposite. This is a deep, complex and beautiful culture, with its own special language (resurging weakly, but steadily). I think I was struck most profoundly by this when I humbly accompanied the men's chorus at Merrie Monarch just after the King and Queen entered to the sound of conch shells and were seated. I am a very good, chameleon-like traveler with an ability to blend in very well in my surroundings. In France, they thought I might be Spanish or Belgian because of my "accent". They never thought I was American. In New Orleans, they thought I was one of those dark-eyed cajun boys. And here, I can pass as well. But that sense of otherworldliness hasn't passed for a moment. Although I am blending in, I find that sense of exoticism just gets deeper for me. It is, indeed, exciting, mysterious and thrilling. And sometimes exhausting as a result. Part of me longs for the mundane.
3. Zero degrees of separation.
I am he as you are me as you are we and we are all together. It is difficult to keep a secret here. I am a very private person slow to reveal even the basics to another person (I think some of you will vouch for that). It is very rare that I open up completely to another person. In my former profession, I was a clamshell shut tight. You couldn't pry a confidence out of me. However, I am a very expressive and even gregarious shy person. Yes, there is such a thing.
So the challenge for me here has been that expressive side. I want to protect myself and, more importantly, others, but I want to express myself as well. On the mainland in a city of 6 million, that is easy. Here, it is more of a challenge. I am aware of the paradox of pleading for privacy (or at least complaining about the lack of it) while going on Punaweb to express it. I'm a bundle of contradictions, partly truth and mostly fiction. But my attempt to walk that line is genuine and my intentions are honorable. It is part of the challenge of living here.
My first boyfriend dragged me to New Orleans and pointed out that the many courtyards there that you barely glimpse from the street, added to its mystery (I would later solve the mystery and move back to San Francisco as a result). There are virtual courtyards here. Much takes place on the "down low", in the jungle, behind close doors. Instead of disappearing behind an ornate garden gate here, people just fade back into the jungle.
Even 14,000 foot mountains can hide in plain sight here.
The best friend here is one who will maintain your confidence in a small village with only a few degrees of separation between all of us. My challenge has been to express myself, while being that friend. Or perhaps, it is to live more openly while respecting the right of others to disappear into the jungle. You can do that here, too. Know everyone, or disappear. Both, oddly, are easy to do. Sometimes I feel like I am doing both.
4. (Almost) Everything grows here.
Stonefruit doesn't grow too well here. Fruits that need cold and have a hard center do not do that well here, with a few exceptions in certain locations. But everything grows a little wild here. People, too. If you have a side to you that is a little wild and unruly, you just might get spirited away here. You just might start vining all over the place. You might flower and fruit and seed and reseed. You might need someone to come and prune you back into something more humble and manageable. You might need to get shorn like a sheep. Don't bleat. It's unbecoming of you. When that happens, I assure you, you will grow back stronger than ever just like that shower tree I thought I pruned to the ground earlier this year, only to find it is five foot something in December. And flowering. Beautifully. In the wrong place. Dammit.
5. The People Here are Amazing
Those who were born here and those who were flown here are very interesting. I have never found more interesting or spiritually beautiful people in one single place, and I have lived in a lot of interesting places. You have to be careful here because you might run across something you have never seen before. How did Stevie Nicks put it in that one song where our articulate songbird gets quite speechless and starts stammering?: "I have never known what to say, how to say...seen anything today...I've never seen...anything...like YOU!"
I was talking to a friend -- complaining really-- about how unusual everyone was here on the island and that sometimes I felt like I was in the middle of a vampire colony --everyone seemed so exceedingly different. He said "Well, yes, but then you wake up and find that you are one of them". I scoffed at that notion then.
But now I realize. I am. I need no longer stare in abject admiration or fascination at all of the interesting people around me. I might be one of them. Thank God I got bit.
It has been an interesting year. At times, I felt as if the ocean were crashing through me and out the other side. I have been stunned by random rainbows, by immense halos around the moon, and by the vision of a smokey goddess.
And, yes. It is true. You knew this already. I am Kelena. Or Kalena if you want. The latter means "talented". It does not mean "yellow". That is just "lena" and perhaps the article in front of it would make it "ka lena". Anyway, I wish you all beautiful things. A me aloha au ia 'oe. Aloha no. Aloha no. Aloha no.