oahu

i spent the summer and early fall of 2020 back home on oahu. it happened mostly out of impulse because a couple close friends said they would. 

i wrote and took photos nearly every day i was home–mostly to commemorate how life worked out this year: i was working remote from oahu during the 2020 coronavirus pandemic, my friends and i had no kids or similar obligations and could play after work whenever we can, my niece is young, funny, cool, and still wants to hang out with her family, my parents are furloughed and no longer working two jobs each so i see them more often. and with tourism slowed down, we had lots of room to play and roam. 

in quarantine

june 7, 2020 
one of the highlights was sitting on the balcony and filling up a tub with water and putting our feet in it. we can’t be at the beach but sitting in the sun at home isn’t something i can do in my sf apartment that doesn’t get direct light. ariel joined us too and splashed herself with buckets of water. then we turned on the hose to just splash her altogether. we hung out, she dipped her feet in the tub with us and i asked her about boys. she said she doesn’t have any crushes right now. 

june 8
it's too hot to eat too much food. the humidity really strikes toward the later afternoon. when i looked in the mirror earlier this evening, i looked like a moist brown cake, glistening and plump. we hung out with ariel again and marcus taught her how to use a toaster to make her own peanut butter sandwiches.

june 13
i thought i was going to, at some point, romanticize small details of my family's balcony space. instead i'm growing tired of it. it's messy. everything on the ground is hard (i.e. no grass). there are lots of bugs that bite. there are 2 chairs of the 8 that i am comfortable to sit in. but it's where i spend most of my time. i get to be outside while staying in place. and this is where i get to hang out with ariel to make art, play in her little tub, and to hang out with marcus. i do my homework here, lay out, read, go to work. 

i can't wait to go surfing. can't wait to go hiking. but this place...i'm always trying to leave. i haven't spent enough time looking at it. not running away from it. i'm trying to be patient with the mess and all the bugs roaming around. but i think eventually one day i will romanticize it and love its flaws.

june 15
last night as i was going to sleep, i started to notice all the sounds. my neighborhood felt alive in an intimate way.

the first sound i noticed was my neighbors talking. at first, it annoyed me but then i listened closer to all the layers. my neighbors must have been two houses down. their voices were amplified under what i think is a low roof and i imagined them sitting at the side of their house on a couple chairs. there were two voices speaking in what i think was ilocano or visayan. it was definitely filipino. i could tell by the sounds of the syllables and the fast, syncopated rhythmic inflections of their voices. 

it made me think of being in school and hearing a teacher use asian language sounds to contrast against and to personify romantic languages. "romantic languages sound angelic, sweet to the ears. like a romance. languages like chinese or tagalog or vietnamese sound more harsh."

being filipino, those language sounds are familiar. they're a kind of comfort food. i feel like i'm at home in an environment that is accessible and welcoming. 

as much as the sounds kept me up, i liked listening and noticing, feeling at home. 

the next sounds i heard were more subtle, also languages. neighbors speaking vietnamese and chinese dialects. somewhat more muted since i don't understand. also rhythmic and vibrant. 

then i heard my nephews and niece laughing and speaking pidgin. another one of my comfort foods. more happy-go-lucky and something i can understand and speak. it's loose and many times humorous. it feels like common ground, a connecting point. 

all of these sounds were buried under the guise of night. usual suspects like light rain, crickets, and the occasional moped with a loud, nasally muffler. many languages, many people, many stories. all this in a three-home span. 

the funny thing is i never got to know my neighbors. everyone seems to mind their own business and/or quietly hates each other. for various reasons (i'm probably projecting) like noise, visible junk, and obstruction of a view. 

anyway, that's the beauty i listened to last night. it's quiet tonight minus my parents rustling outside in the kitchen, marcus snoring, the gentle breeze, and some stray birds trying to go home. goodnight.

out of quarantine

june 20
happy first day out of quarantine. happy international surfing day. happy summer solstice. i'm worn down, a little sunburnt and very brown today. 

we spent the whole day at the beach. after grabbing some food at fukuya, marcus and i met up with rachel and casey at kaimanas. a bunch of people showed up throughout the day – even kim and ariel came out. 

it was probably stupid to meet up with everyone but it was fun to hang out, swim around, and laugh at stuff. ariel even gave me a hug tonight so i hope that's a good sign. 

in the late afternoon, we surfed at canoes. sunset session. the first hour was a lot of paddling and being terrified. it's been four months since i've surfed. no tourists on shore or taking surf lessons. we're all part of this place. it felt powerful to me, kind of like a reclaiming of our spaces. or maybe i'm just excited to leave the house and am experiencing the norm for the first time. i'm not sure. 

janelle is convinced that by my fourth week home, i'll want to come home. i don't doubt it. 

june 25
part of me feels like we live here now, that we're not quite on vacation since we're not really in a rush to do much of anything. this place doesn't change that rapidly but it seems like a lot will after this pandemic passes. 

june 27
i love this hike. kuliouou is about 6 miles roundtrip and you pass through forests via switchbacks, a breezy canopy of wispy trees (i don't know the type) and then eventually end up on the ridge that's covered in ferns, monstera, and other plants. it's an uphill climb up stairs. the whole time going up, you overlook other hawaii kai valleys, diamond head, and koko head. also parts of waimanalo. 

june 28
as i get older, the more i realize how much of my family's culture and heritage can be lost on me and my generation. 

in 10 minutes, i learned more about my parents' lives in the philippines than i have in the last 10 years. 

my parents didn't grow up with a lot of money. both of their moms were homemakers and my grandpas both worked for the military. 

my mom said she grew up "so poor". her underwear was made of old rice bags. 

i never expected my dad's city upbringing had this agrarian aspect to it but that's what makati used to be like. he and his brother ogie used to wait for their pigs to give birth and their dad would sell them off for money to support the family. since my grandpa worked at the military hospital he was able to get his hands on surgery tools. my dad learned how to cut bulls' balls off and sew them back up. he said doing that sped up the bull's growth. 

one time, my mom's dad's end of year check was stolen and her family couldn't celebrate christmas that year. my mom's four other siblings, whom i never met, got sick when they were really young (months old) and it was hard to afford medical attention and good food then during world war II. they died. my uncle eli, nestor, marlon, aunty fe, and her are all that's left from that lineage. i remember when aunty fe died my mom was so heartbroken. i was a kid and i remember hearing her sniffling from my room late at night. before that, i'd never seen or heard my mom cry. 

mom said she realized as she got older why my grandma did what she did to raise them and that's she's appreciative of how hard she and her dad worked for the family. i see that in both of them now, especially considering they put kim and me through private school. i feel like giving them what they need so then don't have to work so hard. i want them to tell me more about their upbringing. i want to know more about who they are.

july 1
silver linings of the pandemic: driving to north shore and going to waimea valley with no crowds. it was surreal. i've always encountered traffic and lots of people, especially in the summer. swimming in the waterfall was calm without any people around. there was enough space to swim around, get up to the waterfall and no oil puddles from sunscreen. i embrace this solitude here. it's unprecedented for me. another thought: i love how this home stimulates my senses, especially sounds. birds, wind, trees, places, chatter, open windows. 

july 2
beautiful day with family and friends. today marcus and i hiked the maili pillboxes hike in waianae with uncle nestor and coco. they didn't make it all the way to the top since it was hot and coco nearly had a heatstroke. at the top, we saw a view of the waianae coast and its deep blue waters. i loved spending time with my uncle. when i was younger, he'd take me and my sister to kaka'ako park to slide down on boxes. when i got older, he'd let me practice driving on his car and one day we went all the way to halona blowhole

when we got back to town, we surfed around sunset with eric and janelle. there were the most fun, mellow, long waves and magical sunset. i'm really happy here, reliving those long summers in 2012-2014 when we'd spend nearly every day of the week surfing. those are my favorite memories. and i'm making more this summer. i love being with friends, family, and being in the ocean so much. i feel relatively settled here, like i don't feel stressed out working towards more all the time. i'm driven, but also at peace with what i have.

july 7
i'm losing track of the days in a good way. i hiked with my parents at hanauma bay ridge and took them down by the cliffs overlooking the ocean. it's nice to see them in love and watching them take care of one another, all the while teasing each other and laughing a lot. it's rare to see them together for long stints of time not working, just relaxing, and being themselves. i'm thankful i can witness an honest love like this. 

july 13
we canceled our returning flight to SF. over the weekend, we snorkeled up in the north shore at three tables and saw many electric, vibrant fish. i didn't know humuhumus had blue "lipstick." i saw some yellow and black polka dot fish, orange and black fish, and a small turtle. the fish were neon and so bright. once you step into the ocean from two feet on the shore, there's already a big, bustling world beneath you. i've never seen anything like it. 

i also hung out with eduard at his plot at the ala wai community garden. him and his family have been waiting for a year for that land. it's a cool space with maybe about 50+ plots of varying sizes where people plant all kinds of things like papaya and banana trees, bay leaves, aloe, potatoes, pitaya, herbs, succulents. eduard's planning to grow squash, peanuts, and curry leaves. †

today we caught the sunset at china walls as eric and janelle were fishing. there were lots of people hanging out, jumping in the water. it's nice to see it so alive with people having a good time–a contrast from what i've seen around town. 

july 14
marcus turned 30 today. we swam and snorkled around tonngs and got waiola shave ice. later, we got food at mexico. marcus has been wanting to eat there since he first saw the restaurant on school street. 

i reflect on our relationship and how he's made me better. he's loving, kind, self-aware, and pushes me toward more (attempts) at kindness, patience, saving money, being a thoughtful friend, being passionate about life and music and art, and being a more gentle lover. i'm grateful, lucky and blessed.

july 17
elation. spending mornings and late afternoons in the water. paddling until our arms feel heavy and aching. hopping on waves together. staying out much past the sunset, right after the sun hits the water and makes it look like alloy. 

i'm laughing. i'm smiling. i'm grateful for life and growing up here. i'm happy and doing well. i'm closer to my family more than i've been in many years. i can spend time with ariel, talking, going to the beach, hanging out and making art. i can talk to kim like a sister does - real, honest, calm. i can help my parents and uncle nestor start a compost bin and take them out to places and watch movies with them. i've ditched the life routine that was really hard and strict on myself and have fun while working out now. 

i feel present and fulfilled, driven to do more and better. i am strong, healthy, and loved. thank you to all higher powers that helped me steer me in this direction. it is a wonderful ride.

july 19
i love watching her grow. i'm thankful to be one to guide her to independence, confidence, and more broadly, sense of self. sometimes i forget how tender it is to be a child. 9 years old. impressionable and cautious. 

it's days like today where i take her into the water to help her be more brave. do home math work to reminder that she's smart and capable. say out loud to her that's she's funny, strong, and can try new things. the voice in her head should uplift her, even when the outside ones may say otherwise. 

i love her a lot. i want to protect her and help her grow well. i want to be a light for her. i want her to want big, small, good things for herself and the ones she loves and cares for. i want her to love herself. 

august 4
on night surfing:

it was like a dream. we paddled out at sunset when the sky vibrated choppy clouds dyed pink and purple, and the sun left orange blood marks as it slid down into the ocean. the moon didn't come out for another couple hours, rising hot and big over diamond head, sporadically peeking out from behind the clouds before showing itself–small, bright, and mighty. she lit up the ocean. 

people were only silhouettes, reduced to the colors of their glowsticks, not so much their shadows. we saw a shooting star, a turtle, and birds flying overhead–all in the middle of this wavy, black pool. there must've been at least 15 of us out there, including mitch on a big longboard and desmond with a camera. we all caught a good number of waves, enough to make the late night worth our time. 

by all accounts, this is rare and it's magic. how often are we here to witness a full moon and decide to night surf? it's been a few years. 

but i thought i'd feel more amazed, special, blessed. i know that overwhelming sense of gratitude that comes when i recognize a moment. despite the acknowledgement, no warming sense of appreciation. is it because i'm more of a realist now? less romantic? more practical and sleepy?

don't get me wrong. i will never forget this night. i just thought my reactions would be different. more theatrical. maybe being heartfelt has different faces.

august 8
i'm coming up on 1 year of not drinking alcohol. i haven't had coffee, green or black tea for several months. i haven't smoked weed in a while too. 

my home base is a mellow place. sometimes it's lonely. other days it's mediocre. something i miss about things that got me up is how much more seductive life seems. like i'm being hypnotized by the unknown or intrigued by another layer of someone/something to be discovered. 

i realize it's either all in my head or that i'm hyper-intuitive. but despite this newfound sense of a raw, real me, i'm happy or sad in the purest way. "unadultered" is one way to put it. i feel like i'm familiar with who i am, introverted, even-keeled, strong, and resilient. i'm sarcastic and sometimes expressionless. i'm independent and sometimes cold. i'm thoughtful and introspective. i'm patient and hospitable. i do really miss port wine though.

august 9
i gotta go to sleep but didn't want to forget today. there were many serendipitous, simple, happy moments. dawn patrol for bad surf but saw 2 rainbows in the water. ate leonards malasadas after (marcus wanted to mention that). snorkeled at makua beach and saw 3 turtles and a sting ray. eric caught a papio fish. then we ended the night bbqing at subia's house. i loved today, even if i felt sleepy.

august 12
here i am, unapologetically basking in the glorious joy of being home for the summer for the first time in years. i am silently shouting "hawaii is closed!!!" along with many other locals, half ignoring that for 14 days i was also foreign and a potential danger to others. 

but do you know what it's like to be in a place that feels like it's yours to roam and to know solitary pleasure? i relish these days. a quieter island. a deeper connection. this place is bigger than i've known. this place still grounds me. i am completely myself. but don't get me wrong–i recognize my circumstance. employed and well. 

all i want is to hold onto these days as long as i can. there will never be a peace like this once this quiet goes away and people start flowing back and life is that normal some of us are striving for. 

i am enraptured by this place, my home.

august 29
one of my favorite times of the day is right when the sun comes up near the ocean and the light hits the water and sky really gentle. the sky turns a light pink powder and the water is navy blue glass. 

we snorkled in makaha with janelle and eric, david, and gilly. saw 2 octopuses the guys pulled out, a couple turtles, and janelle swam into a cave. 

i visited grandma and grandpa with mom, dad, kim, ariel, and uncle nestor. this visit to the cemetery was more joyous than the last time and i learned about my family's migration into america. 

my grandpa came first with my grandma. it was relatively quick for him to be approved–special priority because he served in the philippine army supporting the US in world war ii. two years later my mom and uncle marlon were petitioned and arrived here. a year later, uncle nestor was also petitioned to come and eventually he did. five to six years later, my aunty emily would also arrive, only after my uncle marlon flew back to the philippines to marry her and then back to hawaii without her to await her approval. 

apparently my grandma trining also lived in the states for about a year before moving back to makati. she lived in hawaii and new york, but she was alone often and couldn't adjust, according to dad. sometimes i forget she's gone now. i miss her smile and excitement. 

overall, it took about 7 years for my family to move here and become citizens. mom said she knows some families who waited 10-15 years for their citizenship. a "long" time is subjective, but 7 seems long enough. my mom and dad were apart for 1-2 years before dad came over to the states. and here i am with my privilege and simply being born to be considered american. 

part of my wants to speculate the long citizenship process is why my parents, mostly dad, have their political beliefs. they waited years for this whole process to complete, it's like they refuse to be anything but loyal to the government that granted them american rights. they see citizenship as a reward for patience, perseverance, persistence. again, i speculate. 

september 1

those long summer in college still mean a lot to me. playing in the ocean almost every day. exploring the mountains. being close to family. some of the experiences were new, so they gripped me. it felt essential to this identity i was forming and figuring out. i remember clearly my last night in the ocean before i would return back to SF to start job hunting and i knew that marked the end of a chapter, beginning of a new one. it was bittersweet. 

i looked up at the moon near the shore with my board, trying to hold onto that night and those cherished days in the water with friends. i didn't know how important these times would be to me in the years the followed. i thought about those summers with a deep nostalgia. i felt like i was erasing this part of me for a 9 to 5 in a cold, foggy city. i'd get frustrated that days in the water or camp trips or backpacking trips or days in a lake or up on a mountain couldn't fill that void or give me the same joy. eventually i'd understand that the high may not be the same but the adventure is there. it's different and it's also beautiful and grand. 

i picked up other hobbies and physical activities but nothing grounds me the same way or as thoroughly as the ocean does. i'll choose it every time. 

i've seen many moods of the water. i'm seeing myself get better on the waves. i'm meeting people and seeing familiar faces. i feel part of something and i feel like myself. i'm grounded and calm and so appreciative of life and this place i get to call another home. 

i wrote this because i just want to remember.

september 16
yesterday i went out to rockpiles for the last time with eric and janelle. lots of strangers with familiar faces who shaped my time here–keoni (helped marcus when he stepped on vana), alicia (friendly longboarder who works at kapiolani), kalei (talented noserider i met at canoes), ryan (alicia's boyfriend. another great noserider), and that blonde guy who gets to the nose a second after he catches his wave. these are the contextual bits and pieces of their lives i remember. 

i got sentimental and teared up paddling in, looking at diamond head and the pink and purple sky above it. i thought about how life goes on for me and for this place without me being here. it seems final but it's a reality that makes me the saddest about leaving. i imagine my friends surfing at 3 pm, like they do almost every day, while i am boarding a plane back to san francisco. 

the constants remain, like this place and its magic, and i am the one who changes. 

although COVID has caused much destruction and hardship–more than i have experienced myself (a privilege), i admit–there are brighter sides. the biggest one is being able to fall deeply into this place. my parents are home all the time. my ability to work remote. my niece being 9 and hilarious. my sister and i finally having the connection i always wanted us to have. 

i can tell i've grown more patient. more playful and happy. and more welcoming to others. people are that out here. and it's infectious. i will eventually move back here after my year away. i'm trying to soak in and remember this special summer. making new memories to bring life to the old ones. to remind myself that even though experiences can be great, beautiful, and fleeting, there's a chance they can happen again.