Blog 10

“Lose thirty pounds and you’ll get an A for the semester.”

            “Deal.”

            Being a stubborn and strong-willed athlete, Aes Ferrer never liked to lose, and is always up for challenging and bettering himself.  In his senior year of high school he participated in football and judo.  As a 205-pound middle linebacker, he was a heavy muscular beast, benching 275 pounds easily in the weight room.  Once football season was through, he started training for judo.  During this transition between seasons, he was also in a weight training class.  His coach proposed a deal that if he lost thirty pounds for judo, he would receive an A for the semester.  On top of that, he only had three weeks to do it.  Determined and motivated as he always is, he cut his diet, completed strenuous workouts, and lost thirty pounds in just three weeks.

            “Wow.  You inspire me,” said his coach, and he actually started to lift weights with the team after seeing what Aes was able to accomplish.  Not only is Aes determined and hardworking, he is also very close to his family and credits all his morals and values to them.

Random UC Conversation

It's about 4:30pm and there is a group of three students in the UC studying for an exam. Their papers were spread out all over two tables pushed together. There is a girl with long hair in a brown leather jacket (1), a guy in a blue sweater with a beard (2), and a blonde guy in a gray t-shirt (3). I'm not sure what class exactly they were studying for, but it was something scientific. At times it was difficult to hear what they were saying, because I didn't want to be really creepy and sit right next to them, so I sat a table away.  Even then, the UC is a pretty loud place. I did my best!

2: Tissue thrombo plastid.

3: I’m just glad I got my 10 hours of sleep last night. I’m not in terrible position. On a scale of one to shit I think I’m ok.

1: Hemophilia. I feel like that's a

2: None of that's even…

1: What’s that smell. Smells like corned beef.

3: You know what would be so good tonight? Grilled corn with some spices and butter.

2: Wow is that almost, pretty much it?

3: No.

2: Fuck off.

All laughs.

1: OK what is…let’s go over this really quick.

2: This is uh,

3: You know, I’ve honestly never considered cheating on a test before. Because to be honest, I know how to do it too. My friend. He wears shorts and writes on his leg.

1: I know people that cheat using their phones. For anatomy.

1: I did so good on those lab exams.

2: Yeah they’re all memorization.

1: Yeah I would get, I would get ok grades on my in class exams.

3: Jesus Christ Mike you’re eating like a damn pig!

2: Haha yeah.

3: Their tots are amazing. I like them better than McMinnamins.

2: Alright what are we on to. Let’s focus dude.

1: So much stuff…

2: What did you get on the first one? 88.

3: That’s all im aiming for.

1: Me too

2: I just have to do good on this one so I don’t have to stress about the final.

1: You said respiratory?

3: Yeah.

2: Cystic fibrosis is definitely gonna be on there.

3: Mucuociliary escalator.

2: Cystic fibrosis is just really thick mucus…where those ions go, water will follow.

1: Can you explain that to me.

2: I think it’s sodium.

3: If its over here its gonna wanna stay over there.

Musical Connections

     The sun beat down on my face as she looked out over the field.  My teammates are stretching and warming up before our big game.  With our bats and gloves lined up on the fence, we all joined together in song. Beyonce's "Check On It" starts to play, and we all know the exact words and moves to the song and start shaking our hips and laughing with each other.  The upbeat melody and the flirtatious lyrics get us hyped up and ready for the game, sort of like a pre-game ritual. Having fun dancing and singing together as a team helps us to bond and come together before every game starts.

     I was at lu'au practice, since I really haven't had much time to do anything else since the end of spring break, and that was my only chance to ask my question. At lu'au practices, I know a very good majority of the people there. There was a girl that I did not recognize, so I asked her to be my "stranger". She was a pretty girl with long brown hair and a big smile. She had a red shirt and athletic short on, and seemed friendly enough. I found out her name is Kayla Costales and she is here visiting friends and to see our lu'au. She is from Hilo, Hawai'i on the Big Island and it turns out she knows some of my cousins from Hilo (It's true. Somehow everyone knows everyone in Hawai'i). She shared with me that she loves volleyball and softball, and she has a younger brother. The question I decided to ask her was, "Do you have a favorite song/artist?"

     Surrounded by the smell of freshly barbecued teriyaki chicken and homemade beef and vegetable curry, I head down to the beach.  My whole family always barbecues together during the summer when we all don't have school.  All my mom, dad, younger brother, aunties, uncles, and cousins come down to the beach on Sundays and bring their favorite dish that they have perfected and made famous in the family.  When day turns to night, we all sit in a circle with full bellies and sun-kissed skin and sing the traditional Hawaiian song "Holei" by Cody Pueo Pata.  It's the perfect way to end a beautiful summer day.  To sit back with family and enjoy the time we can spend with each other in kanikapila style.  Holei will always bring me back to this wonderful feeling and remind me of home.

On Hula

The scorching lights burn my eyes as I walk toward the stage.  The thousands of volts cause beads of foundation-filled sweat to drip down my face.  The palapalai ferns I picked from the mountains and braided together are tied around my wrists and ankles like they were meant for cutting off circulation.  The sweet maile leaves twisted with pikake are draped around my neck; the strong, sweet scent filling my nostrils with a heady fragrance.  Voice strong, chin up, shoulders back, chest out, fingers together, strings tied, stomach sucked in, motions memorized, I'm ready.

O ka hula ka 'olelo o ka pu'uwai, no laila, 'o ia ka pana pu'uwai o ka po'e Hawai'i. "Hula is the language of the heart, therefore the heartbeat of the the Hawaiian people."

Hula is an ancient art form I fell completely in love with at the age of 8.  Being from a Japanese family, I was the black sheep who found my identity in Hawaiian dance and language.  I always had a deep love and respect for the beautiful island I call my home.  The Hawaiian people did not have a written language, so the only way to preserve their history and culture was through singing, chanting, and dancing.  It was their way of passing down the stories of their people.  The hundreds of beautiful Hawaiian songs and chants honor the beautiful places, people, events, and historical reigning monarchs of Hawai'i.  When I was very small, I saw a group of girls dancing hula on center stage at Ala Moana.  Their grace and confidence exuded off the stage, and I knew that was what I wanted to do.

On Spice Girls

The Spice Girls were one of the biggest musical fads of the '90s.  Their album sold 28 million copies worldwide and hit number one in over 30 countries, making them the best selling female group of all time.  Let's face it, most of us know the words to "Wannabe" and "Spice Up Your Life", whether we wanted to or not.

Whoever did the marketing for the Spice Girls was one helluva genius.  I mean come on; Sporty Spice, Scary Spice, Posh Spice, Ginger Spice, and Baby Spice? The athletic one, the outgoing wild one, the silent fashionista, the token ginger (don't worry I laughed too), and the girly leader.  All the little girls singing and dancing along to their songs had to relate to at least one of them (except maybe ginger? hah. I'm sorry. I don't mean to offend any gingers) My friends and I got together and entered the talent show in first grade.  We each picked a Spice Girl that best represented us, and we dressed up and sang and danced together just like they did.  I wonder how many other girls did the same.

Their careers skyrocketed in the mid '90s and exploded internationally.  They soon faded from the spotlight, and never really made it back to the center stage again.  There have been so many "one-hit wonders", and I guess in this case the Spice Girls were more of a "one-album wonder".  It was a fun fad to follow, and don't argue this one with me, especially girls.  Boys I know you secretly loved them on the inside and wanted to sing along with us, but didn't for fear of perpetual embarrassing teasing from the other guys until the end of time.  It was so much fun dressing up and dancing around, blasting their songs and screaming along with them in the car while your parents roll their eyes.  It was a part of history that made my childhood.

Fads are a bigger part of our lives than we may think.  When we look back on things, we are reminded of the lives we used to live and the people we used to be when those fads were popular.  Seeing how we've progressed in music, fashion, and whatever else only goes to show that we are always moving forward, for better or for worse.

On Pareaus

You're probably wondering, "what in the heck is a pareau?" It is a part of my daily wardrobe when I am back home in Hawai'i, but who would have thought it had so many uses?

Pareaus, also known as sarongs, are colorful dyed lengths of cloth using the methods of batik. The history cannot be traced back to a single place, since so many cultures use pareaus. There are many variations in many different cultures, some with tasseled edges, interchanging color patterns, and/or  tribal designs printed on them. I have a sort of demented addiction to them. When I see a pareau I am immediately drawn to it, and if I like the pattern and design enough, I'll buy it for sure. I have a red one with swirling yellow flowers, an orange one with fishes printed on it, a yellow one with tribal stingrays, and the list goes on. I have pareaus from Hawai'i, Tahiti, Samoa, and even Japan. Just as a girl can never have too many shoes, a girl can never have too many pareaus.

My everyday wardrobe at home consists of a bikini, salty tangles of hair, a surfboard under my arm, and a pareau tied around my hips. Walking around like this while shopping or eating in restaurants is perfectly fine and considered normal. Considering we live on an island surrounded by beaches, it is more unusual to see someone walking around in a coat or boots.

After a long day of surfing, I grab my pareau and dry myself off with it like a towel. I lay it down on the sand and used it as a mat to lie down and read. I shake the sand off and lay it on the seat of my car. It's a great substitute seat cover. I forgot my purse, so I wrapped my cell phone, wallet, book, water bottle, and shorts into a perfect little bundle topped off with a knot. It started to rain, so I grabbed my pareau and wrapped it around my head and shoulders like a blanket to fend off the wet drizzle. And I finally got to Tahitian dance practice, where I tie two knots in the cloth and hike it up to my knees as the yellow flowers bounce up and down, and the fish twist in circles, and the stingrays swing to the beat of the drums.

Scene from "October 24th, 1928"

            She remembers her name.  She remembers the war.  She remembers her birthday.  She remembers the recipe for her famous egg drop soup.  She remembers the house she grew up in.  The one in the back of Palolo valley next to the 76 gas station.  She remembers the orchids and cherry tomatoes she used to tend with her brother in the backyard.  She remembers the sausage dog that lived with them who rolled on a skateboard, too fat to walk.  She remembers her niece, two years young and her mother had just passed away—but she does not remember that niece’s name.  She remembers the name of the man she did not marry—Gregory Peck—and how he was such a handsome looker.

            The hallways smell of processed turkey and old linens.  Wheelchairs full of missing limbs and sad eyes line the walls.  I know none of their stories, but I know they are all waiting; waiting for either more time or less.  We reach room 224 on the second floor, Lewalani Wing.  She is sitting on her bed, fussing with a wrinkled paper napkin, brittle from being folded and unfolded hundreds of times.  Her prepared meal waits on the side, untouched as always.  We each hug her frail outline and kiss the sunken cheeks of her thinning face.  I smooth back her now white frazzled hair and Katie wipes the dried soup drizzle off her shirt.  “Hi Aunty Sue! How have you been?” mom asks.  Aunty looks up at her and her eyes widen and she shoots us a light, pleasant smile.  Mom always starts tearing up at this point, and so do my sister and I.  Only we know her well enough to recognize that look on her face; the look that she only gives to strangers.