Hale (2010) edited 2023
Hale is a Hawai'ian word that means
1. House, building, institution, lodge, station, hall; to have a house.
2. Host, hospitable person
When I was five, I used to draw a one-story house with two vertical windows that looked like eyes, a door in between the two eyes like a nose, and triangle hair. This was my ideal house.
Between my 20's to '30s, I often visited Puʻupiha Cemetery. It was located in Lahaina, Maui, Hawai'i where I partly grew up. It is a place that I call home, where it constantly showed me what I could become. As time passed, I became desperate to find my family with whom I could share laughter and belonging. A Home. The Cemetery comforted my loneliness. I could feel a warm sensation in my body by visiting the passed souls. Some homeless people used to live there too. They asked me what I was doing. And conversations moved into delirious religious Jesus related issues that became a noise, distraction from my experience. A cemetery is a place of care where we express our love in silence. The Cemetery is in sand dunes, constantly moving; the graves shifted position. These anonymous tombs of unknown people's once had a name yet most likely were forgotten between the cycle of life and death. Finding the nameless graves was like a mirror for my existence. One day in the dune, I met a skull that greeted me. One of his leg bones accompanied him. I was frightened and touched at the same time. In life, the only constant element is movement. Death represents stillness. When Remains of life mingle with life movement, they feel like the door opens between two worlds.
The Hale, my house, also changed forms. It became like a crushed spaceship where communication between two worlds was possible.
I cherish the time I met people. Meeting people opened my life. Uncles, aunts, grandma, nephews, and nieces of diverse generations could be found. These men and women that I admired. Some meant much more to me than just a meeting. Many have passed away, and many are still alive. They all gave me a moment to be with them.
I have grown up to become complex. Complex in the ways I thought and complex in the way I worked. In some ways, I wanted to return to the essentials and grow based on the most precious experiences. I am curious if I can do it. Losing loved ones who whisper to my ear of what I may have missed by taking what was given to me for granted.
1. House, building, institution, lodge, station, hall; to have a house.
2. Host, hospitable person
When I was five, I used to draw a one-story house with two vertical windows that looked like eyes, a door in between the two eyes like a nose, and triangle hair. This was my ideal house.
Between my 20's to '30s, I often visited Puʻupiha Cemetery. It was located in Lahaina, Maui, Hawai'i where I partly grew up. It is a place that I call home, where it constantly showed me what I could become. As time passed, I became desperate to find my family with whom I could share laughter and belonging. A Home. The Cemetery comforted my loneliness. I could feel a warm sensation in my body by visiting the passed souls. Some homeless people used to live there too. They asked me what I was doing. And conversations moved into delirious religious Jesus related issues that became a noise, distraction from my experience. A cemetery is a place of care where we express our love in silence. The Cemetery is in sand dunes, constantly moving; the graves shifted position. These anonymous tombs of unknown people's once had a name yet most likely were forgotten between the cycle of life and death. Finding the nameless graves was like a mirror for my existence. One day in the dune, I met a skull that greeted me. One of his leg bones accompanied him. I was frightened and touched at the same time. In life, the only constant element is movement. Death represents stillness. When Remains of life mingle with life movement, they feel like the door opens between two worlds.
The Hale, my house, also changed forms. It became like a crushed spaceship where communication between two worlds was possible.
I cherish the time I met people. Meeting people opened my life. Uncles, aunts, grandma, nephews, and nieces of diverse generations could be found. These men and women that I admired. Some meant much more to me than just a meeting. Many have passed away, and many are still alive. They all gave me a moment to be with them.
I have grown up to become complex. Complex in the ways I thought and complex in the way I worked. In some ways, I wanted to return to the essentials and grow based on the most precious experiences. I am curious if I can do it. Losing loved ones who whisper to my ear of what I may have missed by taking what was given to me for granted.
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