uesday marked my 6th month in these islands. A man I knew in another life once told me, “to really move to a place you have to give it 6 months, before you draw conclusions. “ Well, Happy Anniversary to me. When I tell people I’m a writer who just moved here they ask one of 3 things, “Did you know anyone before you got here?” No. “Don’t you miss New York?” Yes: the people, my family and friends. Or “How long will you stay in Hawai’i?” Where my answer has always been – As long as I’m happy here. For this post please be patient with me as it is a reflection on what it means to me to have made the 6 month mark while going confidently in the direction of my dreams.
I reaize I live an unconventional life. That the world isn’t all cotton candy and kittens, but also that it is our choice what we put in our heads. The positive over the negative; who we surround ourselves with, hopefully, the people who bolster our dreams and root for our success; & having the courage to ‘get furious at each attempt to hold you down’. (cole porter rocks) But also that life is not black or white, it is in the nuances of gray that most people find themselves, but you know what… there is always a choice.
I dare you to ask yourself, What do you choose?
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Aloha - the word synonymous with Hawai’i has different meanings. It is most commonly used as a greeting, but is in fact a compound of two words “alo” meaning presence and “hā” meaning breath – therefore “the presence of (divine) breath,” and like kaona [pronounced: kao' nah] of Hawaiian songs, can have veiled meaning. It can mean love, such as the Māori word “aroha” or welcome, or I care for you, or I remember you though we have not yet met. It, like saying “I love ketchup” is an enigma, sometimes undefined but always clearly positive. To me it embodies the spirit of these islands; it is the breath and the essence of life. While meandering I’ve asked those along the way what it means to them and each person I ask has told me something different, it is indeed true – variety is the spice of life!
It’s important to attempt to define this word for you as I was intimidated by it before coming here, before I knew, experienced and practiced it's use. This one little word has infinite power to make people smile when said with conviction. Here in this remotest of spots on earth (I think it’s something like 2600 miles to the closest land mass), one has to ask themselves, “If it's in the middle of nowhere, why does everyone come here? Why has everyone heard of it or at the very least smile, once they do hear of it? What is so fascinating about “island style”?
I present this to you from a still developing mind, someone who has sat around for a while doing nothing, really doing nothing. Coming from New York, the epicenter of being busy, or at least looking busy, Hawai’i is a 180° difference. The polestar here is family. However, it is also a nexus, much like New York, a melting pot of different people offering different forms of attraction, like attracting like. Waikiki is tropical Manhattan. You want nightlife, take your pick: Level 4, the Shack, Tiki's; You want exercise: surfing surrounds you, mountains rise above you - no gym membership required; You want music, just stand still: the trees sing, the ocean is the rhythm section crashing steadily on the shore, birds comprise the orchestra and the people are the band. People here work hard, sometimes at two or three jobs, so when it’s 'Pau Hana' (done working) time they can play harder, and Hawaiians – they know how to play and as the saying goes, it is never too late to have a happy childhood.
There’s a certain stigma with not being a local here… that people like me – migrants to these islands, wish to overcome. Nevertheless, the perspective that comes with not being from here, “born and raised,” helps in the appreciation of what this place has to offer [what’s the opposite of being jaded? This place is like finding a crisp five dollar bill when the coconuts are free.] It’s not just coordinates on a map. Its maybe, just maybe, the closest thing to the feeling that home should radiate, the feeling of belonging.
Life often gives us what we need. It just so happens that sometimes we aren’t ready to receive what it’s giving us. I've come to accept this fact, to accept that not everyone is cut out for Hawai'i and that's ok. People are put into our lives as catalysts and when received readily can make life deeper, richer and fuller - even if its not everlasting.
This might seem funny to some of my new friends from Hawai’I, but I’ve only heard about John Cruz for about a month and up until yesterday at Zippy’s didn’t know what saimin was. Isn’t it cool how you learn something new every day? *sigh* I’m in a mutually committed love affair with paradise.
Now back to the boot camp. To say that this class is a revelation in the way I look at relationships is a gross understatement. Studying this dance is better than any self-help/relationship book I have ever read, and I dare say, better than half of my romantic relationships. Shoots! Have you ever heard the expression, “dance around the issue?”
Picture if you will, dancing with the sun setting through these windows. Surreal.
This is not that. It is complete non-verbal communication of what the man hears in the music, interprets and sings through the woman. In the last three days, I have come to appreciate when a man opens the door for me. To be honest, I am a traditionalist at heart. Just look at the world around us, we have to be able to transform. Women are so strong, self-sufficient and more likely to take the lead in their own lives than wait around for a man to do it for them. I grew up with this mentality, surrounded by legions of women going to work in suits while raising a family. It has taken quite a bit for me to loosen up enough to simply follow, especially after being surrounded by Aphrodites rising from the waves who can carry their nine-oh long boards in under one arm and a baby in the other.
In tango class last night, George taught us about “molinetes,” the windmill in Spanish. This is the quintessential step for the woman, the follower, and once understood unlocks the secrets of tango, the language of feelings. All at once Marvin Gaye’s signature song, “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” took on new meaning. The molinete is the door or the gate step, and like life, the door has to be open enough to let the person through. The highest form of the dance is when a couple can walk their tango without effort, communicating, eyes-closed and without words. If that is the case, right now I am running, eyes-wide and arms flailing. But I know, things are gonna get easier eventually.
At the milonga Tuesday night, George did a demonstration with Elizabeth. The class and party were held at Fisherman’s Wharf, upstairs in a space called Living Room, don’t you just ♥ that? So as the sun set into twilight we tangoed. Chee! Keep in mind it was the second night in and I was as close to clueless as one can get. Anyway, we make it to the end of class and the milonga begins. There is all this innuendo and rules with the dance party. A man doesn’t ask a lady verbally, instead two people look around the room and do the “three second stare” when they find someone they’d like to dance with. Sweet. Jessica.Tandy. Thankfully, Jim came to my rescue and took me for my first spin around the floor and explained “The Code”. There are two holds or ‘embraces’ in tango, the more formal, open embrace where you are at arms length and the close embrace (just like it sounds kiddies) which is how it’s done in Buenos Aires. Ladies choice. Woman determines the embrace and the man maintains it. Word, I can dig it – we’re dancing in hugs.
My job was to NOT THINK. Excuse me? That’s right. For an over analytical mind this is preposterous. But it’s just how it has to be. Ladies, we are in high heels dancing backwards, so you just have to go with the flow. All I’m asking is for a dude to have his sh*% together. I dance with one guy, kept stepping on me, song ends, “Thank you,” I say. (that’s code for more practice, Next!) I dance with another guy, won’t shut up but gets me around the floor pretty well, we dance two songs, “Thank you,” he smiles. (This time it was me that needed more practice) I take my shoes off, Universal Code for “Thanks, but no thanks.” After rubbing my ‘haven’t-been-in proper-shoes-for-6-months feet’ for 10 minutes I put my shoes back on. Some Japanese man asks me to dance, I tell him politely, “This is my second night.” He nods. What happens next can only be likened to a train wreck.
We’re dancing along at a frenzied pace (I don’t even have TIME to think) and next thing I know I’m bloody doing the tango, he’s making me do that funny leg thing and extensions and little hip swishys, it was awesome!! I tell myself, “Please God, don’t let him say thank you.” It’s not often that I invoke the Lord, but it seems this time it worked! And he doesn’t say thank you, we dance another song, better than the first. Then one more song comes on and he must have thought to himself, “this chick lied, she obviously hasn’t only done this once before, jokes on her! Time to turn up the fuego!” Oh Sweet Mother. He’s doing this funky chicken foot thing and I’m trying to keep up when next thing I know, PLOP! I’m on the floor, on my a$$, in a dress. Touchdown! I am mortified, but somehow he gets me back up on my feet and we’re flying again, song ends. We made it through an entire Cortina – 3 songs, and I have the bruise to prove it. Later on in the evening I find out that this man doesn’t speak English. He didn’t even know what I was saying to him before we started to dance. Brilliant. I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything in the world and it taught me not to take myself so seriously & if you fall down, have a laugh, pick yourself up and keep on going.
I leave you with this thought and much aloha, my friends. Check ya on the flip side.
bonvivantwahine.
maluhia☮ hoku☆ aloha♥
follow your peace, your dreams & your heart.
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