Origins (inspired by JuDonn's TFA Diversity session)

O Leilani ko’u inoa, and I come from the ones forgotten

                            The ones who tried to forget

                    And the ones who savagely erased. 

 I come from those

                    whose bloodline dates back to  Maui and the Big Island

                Proud people with shark aumakuas,

          and stewards of ancient Hawaiian homelands

                  dotted with verdant greens from where echoes

        of mele and pule resonate like the drumbeats

                and heartbeats pulsing through history’s bones

        and coursing through my existence. 

But now I come from the chiefs of Wall Street

           tyrants whose eyes are closed and who foreclose

                          generations-old homes where grandmothers in slippahs and curlers

            stand over the stove that fill four walls with the scent of 

kalua cabbage, lau lau, and loco moco. 

             Love. For Sale.

Osiyo 

                  I am from Ahawi, half of whose bloodline

walked on at Fort Knox during Nunna Daul Isunyi

              In this Trail of Needless Tears that spans from one generation to the other to the other to the other to the other, my bloodline became another--

deemed the other.

              Trickled down through the years,

              I am from the one who was stolen from the wide open spaces of the rez and into closed doors and suffocating walls of  boarding schools by missionaries who believe in the salvation of savages through a god who picks selectively the worthy through a singular word supposedly written in stone

                        I am from the one whose Native tongue is silenced because he wants to be a human being, not a savage

                    I am borne from the genocide of a people who existed long before time had a name

but now invisible and forced to prove their existence by a government who wants us to check one box this box what...categorization

all for federal dollars and recognition

and my shame...

                For I am also from the ones who savaged and ravaged and pillaged

It is my self-imposed and inherited  shame, my dishonour, my brokenness that

Coursing through my veins is the echo of colonization and subjugation, 

I 

am also 

from those

who came to these lands on white-washed ships, bearing promises of salvation draped as blankets riddled with diseases. 

                                 I am from the borderlands of shame and pride,

                                             of hope and despair

Of being too much of different races and identities,

yet never enough of one

I am from “what are you?” and “if you had your father’s hazel eyes and your mother’s rosy skin, you would be beautiful” and racial ambiguity

                    I am from “Is Leilani an Arabic name?” post-911

                             “Are you Mexican?” post-Dream Act

I find it hard

To fully belong in a place other than the one I call my own

Mestizaness hapaness mixed-bloodedness

I belong to many tribes but at times feel alone in this

struggle to make sense of contradiction and duality

But still I try to navigate through these mazes in the hazes of faces layered across places and time

I am from the ones forgotten,

and so I remember

I am from the ones who tried to forget

and so I speak

I am from the ones who tried to erase

And so I see

I am from the Trail of Broken Treaties and annexations of a kingdom,

And so I stand here today and I speak

because though I come from history,

I am today,

eyes full of intent

shoulders straight

soul intact

heart full of hope and strength and fight

I am here

My people live on

Oye

WE NEVER VANISHED

Ni ngai'an nahong un linguahe

Hafa adai! Hafa tatatmanu hao? Na'an-hu si Leilani, taotao O'ahu yo.

Source

As the title of the post says, "One language isn't enough,"  and so I've challenged myself to learn Chamorro in the next few months, possibly years. My goal isn't fluency, but rather to be a part in its revitalization. I've chosen to learn Chamorro for many reasons. On a personal level, three of my cousins on my da's side are Chamorro, so I do feel a personal stake in its survival and revitalization. This is my cousins' culture and language, and I would like for them to live in a world where they can hear their Mother Tongue being spoken freely and abundantly, instead of hearing about their Mother Tongue in academic and linguistics circles as an extinct language from the Marianas islands. Language is such a visceral part of culture and by extension, oneself. So first and foremost, my goal of learning Chamorro is my cousins' cultural and linguistic survival, so that their people and language will always be "here" instead of "was here."


Intellectually, I am fascinated by the Chamorro language. Modern Chamorro shares a lot of loan words with Spanish. Ancient Chamorro is also very similar to the indigenous languages of the Philippines before they were colonized by the Spaniards. As I began reading and listening to the Chamorro language, I was awashed by a sense of familiarity and kinship. It felt like I knew the language intuitively, from the depths of of my soul.


So here begins my journey to Chamorro language learning. I look forward to doing my part in ensuring that my cousins' language will not be relegated as an ancient linguistic relic in the annals of history.


Biba Chamorro!

Hapa, "Redemption Song"

Originally sung by Bob Marley, this rendition of Redemption Song by the Hawaiian group Hapa is one of the songs I turn to whenever I need re-affirmation that there is goodness in the world. 99.999% of the time, it is not too late. There is redemption.

I admit; sometimes I can be so rararara speak out! that I sometimes forget that a whisper can be just as powerful as a scream. Sometimes it's the little details that make the most profound difference, rather than a huge act. A whisper can resonate the loudest across the vast expanse of the world and a pebble can produce the most enduring ripple as long as they are constant.

That being said, there is something so powerful whenever I hear a chant or a song from my ancestral tongues. Power. Mana, it is called in Hawaiian. Incidentally, Mana in Tagalog means inheritance. So in the words of my Hawaiian and Pinoy ancestors, Mana is a power that is inherited, passed on from a proud people whose cultures and traditions can never be vanished.

Sometimes I do worry, though, that someday my ancestral tongues will cease to exist. We had been silenced before  by missionaries and conquerors who told us our Native ways were savage. They used God as a justification for silencing our tongues, our songs, our chants, our identity. But they couldn't succeed, because Mana is not created by man and therefore cannot be taken away by man. And so we still speak, though not as loudly as we had before the time of James Cook.

What worries me is that there are some in my generation who think that modernity and progress means letting go of Nativeness, that in order to fly one must abandon roots. I am an American in my home country and yet in here, I hunger for the sound of Hawaiian, Tsalagi/Cherokee, and Maori tongues. I yearn for Bisayan and Tagalog that are not peppered with English words; bastardized BisLish and TagLish have become somewhat of a new status symbol that separates the elites from the non-elites. I long to hear pride and survival with each syllable spoken from my ancestral tongues.

Is that too naïve, too idealistic? Maybe it is and maybe it isn't, but it is my truth.  


 

Jose Protacio Rizal, "Mi Ultimo Adios"

¡Adiós, Patria adorada, región del sol querida,
Perla del mar de oriente, nuestro perdido Edén!
A darte voy alegre la triste mustia vida,
Y fuera más brillante, más fresca, más florida,
También por ti la diera, la diera por tu bien.
En campos de batalla, luchando con delirio,
Otros te dan sus vidas sin dudas, sin pesar;
El sitio nada importa, ciprés, laurel o lirio,
Cadalso o campo abierto, combate o cruel martirio,
Lo mismo es si lo piden la patria y el hogar.
Yo muero cuando veo que el cielo se colora
Y al fin anuncia el día tras lóbrego capuz;
si grana necesitas para teñir tu aurora,
Vierte la sangre mía, derrámala en buen hora
Y dórela un reflejo de su naciente luz.
Mis sueños cuando apenas muchacho adolescente,
Mis sueños cuando joven ya lleno de vigor,
Fueron el verte un día, joya del mar de oriente,
Secos los negros ojos, alta la tersa frente,
Sin ceño, sin arrugas, sin manchas de rubor
Ensueño de mi vida, mi ardiente vivo anhelo,
¡Salud te grita el alma que pronto va a partir!
¡Salud! Ah, que es hermoso caer por darte vuelo,
Morir por darte vida, morir bajo tu cielo,
Y en tu encantada tierra la eternidad dormir.
Si sobre mi sepulcro vieres brotar un día
Entre la espesa yerba sencilla, humilde flor,
Acércala a tus labios y besa al alma mía,
Y sienta yo en mi frente bajo la tumba fría,
De tu ternura el soplo, de tu hálito el calor.
Deja a la luna verme con luz tranquila y suave,
Deja que el alba envíe su resplandor fugaz,
Deja gemir al viento con su murmullo grave, 
Y si desciende y posa sobre mi cruz un ave,
Deja que el ave entone su cántico de paz.
Deja que el sol, ardiendo, las lluvias evapore
Y al cielo tornen puras, con mi clamor en pos;
Deja que un ser amigo mi fin temprano llore
Y en las serenas tardes cuando por mí alguien ore,
¡Ora también, oh Patria, por mi descanso a Dios!
Ora por todos cuantos murieron sin ventura,
Por cuantos padecieron tormentos sin igual,
Por nuestras pobres madres que gimen su amargura;
Por huérfanos y viudas, por presos en tortura
Y ora por ti que veas tu redención final.
Y cuando en noche oscura se envuelva el cementerio
Y solos sólo muertos queden velando allí,
No turbes su reposo, no turbes el misterio,
Tal vez acordes oigas de cítara o salterio,
Soy yo, querida Patria, yo que te canto a ti.
Y cuando ya mi tumba de todos olvidada
No tenga cruz ni piedra que marquen su lugar,
Deja que la are el hombre, la esparza con la azada,
Y mis cenizas, antes que vuelvan a la nada,
El polvo de tu alfombra que vayan a formar.
Entonces nada importa me pongas en olvido.
Tu atmósfera, tu espacio, tus valles cruzaré.
Vibrante y limpia nota seré para tu oído,
Aroma, luz, colores, rumor, canto, gemido,
Constante repitiendo la esencia de mi fe.
Mi patria idolatrada, dolor de mis dolores,
Querida Filipinas, oye el postrer adiós.
Ahí te dejo todo, mis padres, mis amores.
Voy donde no hay esclavos, verdugos ni opresores,
Donde la fe no mata, donde el que reina es Dios.
Adiós, padres y hermanos, trozos del alma mía,
Amigos de la infancia en el perdido hogar,
Dad gracias que descanso del fatigoso día;
Adiós, dulce extranjera, mi amiga, mi alegría,
Adiós, queridos seres, morir es descansar.




English translation below the cut: 

Queen Lili'uokalani, "He Mele Lāhui Hawai'i" (The Song of the Hawaiian Nation)*

Ka Makua mana loa   

Almighty Father bend your ear

Maliu mai iā mākou

And listen to a nation's prayer

E hāliu aku nei

That lowly bows before your throne

Me ka naʻau haʻahaʻa

And seeks your protective care

E mau ka maluhia

Grant your peace throughout the land

O nei pae ʻāina

Over these sunny islands 

Mai Hawaiʻi a Niʻihau

Keep the nation's life, oh Lord,

Ma lalo o kou malu

And on our sovereign smile

E mau ke ea o ka ʻāina

Grant your peace throughout the land

Ma kou pono mau

Over these sunny islands

A ma kou mana nui

Keep the nation's life, oh Lord

E ola e ola ka mōʻī

And upon our sovereign smile

E ka haku mālama mai  

Guard him with your gentle care

I ko mākou nei mōʻī

Give him long years to reign

E mau kona noho ʻana

On the throne his (fore)fathers won

Maluna o ka noho aliʻi

Bless the nation once again

Hāʻawi mai i ke aloha

Give the king your loving grace

Maloko a kona naʻau

And with wisdom from high (above) 

A ma kou ahonui

Prosperous lead his people on

E ola e ola ka mōʻī

As beneath your watchful eye

Hoʻoho e mau ke

Grant your peace throughout the land

Ma lalo o kou aloha nui

Bless o Lord our country's chiefs

Nā Liʻi o ke Aupuni

Grant them wisdom in order to live

Me nā makaʻāinana

So that our people may be saved

Ka lehulehu nō a pau

And to You the glory give

Kiaʻi mai iā lākou

Watch over us each day

Me ke aloha ahonui

King and people with your love

E ola nō mākou

For our hope is all in You

I kou mana mau

Bless us, You who reign above

E mau ke ea

Grant your peace throughout the land

*I tried my best to do a  verbatim Hawaiian-English translation, and did it in a way so as not to lose its original essence. As most linguists or translators know, there are some words/sayings that are difficult to translate or convey into another language, and a delicate balance between meaning and definition must be found. 

Queen Lili'uokalani

"The people to whom your fathers told of the living God, and 
taught to call 'Father,' and whom the sons now seek to despoil and destroy, are crying aloud to Him in their time of trouble; and He will keep His promise, and will listen to the voices of His Hawaiian children lamenting for their homes."

The Bloodline the Tsalagi Will NEVER Vanish

A video I made as an undergrad for a class on protest
literature.

The Shadow Dancer Retrieves Herself

The storytelling tradition is one of the many cherished shards that that make up the rich mosaic of my heritage. I’ve been blessed to know those who came before me and have been afforded the chance to be an active participant in the continuation of the old ways. My yewyah (grandma) is definitely a master storyteller, and some of my keenest memories as a child were that of sitting at her knee, and listening to her recount the tales of diwatas, sirenas, agta…otherworldly beings that while seemingly whimsical at first hear, are really an observation of the nature of man and the world he inhabits. Fate. Destiny. Choice.

I don’t think I really appreciated the significance of folklore until much later, when I was in the throes of that inevitable “finding yourself” stage. Truth be told, as soon as I grew out of the Disney princess stage, I began to examine folklore from a harsh academic’s eyes. I was that type of academic who believed in proof and abided by statistics and probabilities rather than simply believing. In other words, I was a jaded government concentrator who believed that everything worth something must hold up well to scrutiny. I saw folklore, culture, and traditions as scholarly things, rather than as living things that are a part of people…and in turn, are shaped by people and their beliefs to help form their identity.

That all changed when I had to fulfill some of my core requirements outside my concentration. One of the requirements for that course was to compile a folklore collection by interviewing people. I first approached the assignment with a grain of salt; I figured I could just talk to some of my family and friends and type everything verbatim. Easy enough. What I didn’t expect was for the assignment to put into words and bring back into being the dormant native child that I once was. As I collected creation myths, tales of the first pineapple, and the like, I began to realize that I didn’t need to find myself; I just needed to retrieve myself.