First Draft of Wonder Summer in the bag, thanks to NaNoWriMo!

Just a quick note from my still homeless self. Washington has been exciting and exhilarating since I moved here in October. I completed the first draft of my young adult novel, Wonder Summer, thanks to the push from National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). 50,057 words in 29 days.

It was possible! A marathon of writing.

So, now I can rest my head and fingers and let my characters have time to breathe. I need the break.

Going to do this once it stops raining!

I've Gone and Done It. I've signed up for NANOWRIMO.

I eat some comfort food (PB & Raspberry J on wheat) to fuel my literary creative juices tonight. I’ve decided, albeit late in the day to jump on the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) bandwagon. Last year, I dedicated a November to blogging everyday, this year it will be for ‘noveling’. 50,000 words by November 30? Let’s do this.

I’ve had a young adult book idea festering in my brain since Comic Con in July. I’ve sputtered here and there, but today, I’m putting words onto virtual paper.

So without further adieu, later folks. Off to uphold this commitment, even if I’m still ‘homeless’ in Washington State. Now if only I could carry through with a weight loss plan, life would be perfect.

ESTA LATER!

Whoa, is Washington.

It can be hard to warm up to a place when the current temperature is 47 degrees. The sun is out, but the wind is very chilled here in Everett, Washington State. The month of October has been both a blur and a life changing time for my family.

I will say that the road kill is cuter in the Pacific Northwest than Southern Cali.

Aside from the 20 degree difference in temperature, Washington life has been slow. There isn’t much traffic, the commissary parking lot is never full and the chill and wet weather keeps people indoors. Maybe I can finish that new book I’ve been tinkering with yet! Or, maybe not. For now, my family is on the hunt for a home, a school for my son and a chance to empty the 300 boxes that were our life….which now sit in a cold, dark storage facility.

I did initiate my arrival to Everett with a Smashing Pumpkins concert. That rocked! Billy Corgan was great live and charming and humorous when he chatted with the crowd. My favorite exchange, "It's always awkward when the guy who gave you a colonoscopy earlier in the day is at your concert." Bassist, "True story?" Billy, "No, that just popped into my head."

I’ve noticed fewer Wal-Marts here. I’ve loved the autumn colors, my favorite being the blazing red trees. For the last week, my children have been yelling from their car seats, “Look mom! Another Christmas tree!” I must say the space and slower pace are refreshing. But, in the back of my mind, I miss the busy-ness of San Diego.

I look forward to making a mom-cave for myself where I can write out my creative frustrations.

There isn’t a lack of Chamorro love here either.

It’s strange to say I’m “homeless” in Washington for the time being because we’re not lacking in the basic needs for survival. The lodge is cozy and although we’ve had it to about here with boiled eggs, bagels and muffins for breakfast (their continental breakfast), we’re taken care of here.

Life changes, a shift in one’s reality are necessary sometimes. Thank you, Navy for that opportunity.

Celebrating Pacific Islander CULTURE-Melanesia, Micronesia and Polynesia. This weekend in San Diego! Ski Beach, 9/22/12-9/23/12.

Hope to see you there!

September 11, 2001--A Memory Shared....

September 11.

I didn’t intend on writing a post today, but inevitably the tragedy of September 11 always reminds me of my late father.

It was early in the morning on Guam when my father rapped on my door. He told me to turn on the tiny television set in my room and put on CNN. I was groggy, grumpy, not looking forward to another early morning and prepping for work at JFK High School. I watched through blurry eyes, not fully awake and thought, this can’t be real. Maybe I’m dreaming. My dad watched my reaction, the glow from the TV the only source of light in my gray room. I remember looking at him, his face serious and then looking back at the screen. The visuals seemed to be out of a movie. My dad left me alone to process this.

For the next few days, the news was always on in the house. I didn’t react much, still internalizing my feelings. Then, at the dinner table, I watched new footage. Clips of people, who faced with the blazing inferno opted to jump from the building to their deaths. The flapping tie of one man, as he dove from such heights is forever burned in my memory. It was then, my fear and sadness finally surfaced. I cried at the table. My parents quiet next to me.

September 11, the Colorado bombing, tragic events in our nation’s history. I continue to pray and wonder for the victim’s families. Those left behind. I hope one day to visit New York, to see the memorial for myself.

Identity Crisis

“It is time for parents to teach young people early on that in diversity there is beauty and there is strength.”
--Maya Angelou

Son: “Mom, so am I more Chamorro or more American?”
Me: “Being ‘American’ is different from being a ‘Chamorro’, son, it’s like you're asking me if you’re more APPLE or more FRUIT.”

It is the eve of my son’s second grade year. He is both excited that school starts tomorrow (a feeling I hope he never loses) and keenly aware that he only has 4 weeks with this particular brood of kids. As Navy life would dictate, we transfer to the Pacific Northwest by October 1st. He knows he must say goodbye to his friends and wonders if he’ll make new ones. I assured him that his old friends will remain his friends and that he will discover new ones at our new home town. In addition, my seven-year old son has asked me with more frequency and since the Summer Olympics how much of a particular ethnicity he is. He is aware that he is the culmination of 7 ‘identified’ ethnicities, or as he says, “I’m made up of 7 different bloods!” Those being Chamorro, Korean, Japanese, Hawaiian-Portuguese, Filipino, Italian (?). He’s a smidgen of this and a dash of that thanks to my husband and me and our mixed up heritage, but as my son says, “I know I’m mostly Chamorro.”

Sometimes I wish I was simply one ethnicity from one place. Life would be easy, bland, but easy. But, the bouquet of ethnicities represented in my children is wonderful. It might also explain why my daughter has a strand of blonde and strand of red hair buried in her brunette tresses.

My son was also concerned about his future in the Olympics. His confidence and surety are wonderful and I bite my pessimistic tongue every time he relays his dreams. I tell him to go for it, but add that he needs to practice seriously. My son wants to represent Guam in swimming AND running. His statement made me gush. He asked how long he would have to live on Guam to qualify and went down a laundry list of concerns, one being, “Will I still be an American citizen if I move to Guam?” I informed him that people from Guam are indeed American citizens. His eyes bright, he knew he had found a loophole, a way to maintain the only life he knows in America to the one he dreams of as an adult. I didn’t hear the end of this revelation for days. And, he asked why I had kept this gem of knowledge from him, like I was conspiring him from knowing.

In our research of homes and neighborhoods in Washington State, the brown factor always played a role in our decision. The brown factor being, are there islanders in this neighborhood? Some might think I’m being ridiculous for even thinking this way, but I like diversity and I want to insure that we are in a neighborhood tolerant of those who are different. American citizen or not, I’ve had enough encounters with ignorant people to be weary in general. One recent experience happened with another soccer mom. Upon hearing I wrote a few books, she worked hard to get me into her book club. I was cordial with her and kindly denied, but she persisted and to this day, still sends me the occasional mass email of the meeting place and book to be reviewed. Call me stuck up or closed off, but when we were discussing The Count of Monte Cristo, she said that they were serving Monte Cristo sandwiches at this next meeting. I didn’t know what these sandwiches were and asked her about them. Her response? “Oh, that’s right! You wouldn’t know what Monte Cristo sandwiches are! You’re from Guam!” Needless to say, our friendship never went passed that soccer season.

Why am I rambling? I am just worried for the well-being of my kids. I’ve had enough first hand experience being the recipient of stereotyping, that I’m more thick skinned, mature, etc. when I encounter anyone who makes me feel like a freak. It’s a double edged sword. Do I protect my kids from intolerance, prejudice, racism? Do I let them decide on their own how to handle such idiots? We’ve used education about Guam and such and have come away with some really wonderful friends who are fascinated about us and our way of life and our home island, the rest can fly their kites. My kids are lucky enough that they see diversity on our street, in their school, at the store. Navy life has blessed us with people from all origins. And, I know everyone has reassured me that Washington State has bula Chamorros.

Sometimes I feel like one of the mutant X-Men. I think they’re kick ass in their differences. And, I guess when the new neighborhood discovers us and that we’re a bit different, and that we have special mutant powers like making delicious kelaguen, tanning without being in the sun or identifying each other with a simple nod of our heads—then maybe these new folk will love us. I hope so. We can only be who we are, even if it’s a bouquet of DNA.

Thanks for allowing me to vent.
I ♥ Alana Davis-"32 Flavors" 1997

Esta Later!

Hu Guiaya Hao, CHE'LU! Adios...

"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." --Dr. Seuss

I no longer hold the position of Secretary and Board Member of CHE’LU (Chamorro Hands in Education Links Unity). I resigned tonight and attended my final Board meeting. It was bittersweet since the departure from this wonderful non-profit group was more because of my move to the Pacific Northwest this fall than anything dramatic or gossip-worthy.

I wrote up my short and sweet resignation letter 30 minutes before the meeting (I was dragging my feet, dreading this reality), prepared a pretty fruit platter and headed out. Making this break from the wonderful group of Chamorros I’ve grown so fond of was tough. I walked into the conference room, smiling; commiting in my mind to be professional and non-emotional. I joked that I always brought food when I’m about to break up with someone. The four members present laughed. I will miss my small audience, where I can discuss the culture, plan events, have a sense of pride in my Chamorro heritage. I will miss that they laugh at my crazy jokes and suggestions. I’m still hoping that the theme they choose for March 2013’s Chamorro Cultural Fest will be “We’re Pika and We Know It.” (Think LMFAO’s party song).

My jubilant demeanor was shattered when Jojo arrived. She beelined for me and we hugged in a corner of the room. She whispered many thanks and love and support. She cried, then I cried like a baby. Jojo is like a mom to me and one of the main reasons I even joined this awesome group in the first place.

So, I have final minutes to write up tonight. I will do it happily, with care and with a sense of pride. I will miss this group and my role in it. I was ironically asked to sign on as their grant writer, and after two and a half years, never really won a grant for the group, until this week that is. We achieved an SDG&E grant based on my write-up and I secretly sighed in relief that at least I had that.

So, the torch was passed to a very able-bodied Superwoman in our group. The whole tribe is composed of Super Women and one lucky dude. The Board is making strides to fill in my spot and added more to snag willing Chamorro professionals in San Diego. I can’t wait to see the great things that they will continue to accomplish.

I am gladly taking the smaller role of Communications Advisor.

So, CHE’LU, thank you for being that safe haven for me to FEEL my Chamorro-ness. It’s been a great run.

*Photo by Bryson Kim


I love you all.

Esta Later!