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!

Onward Geckos! GWHS Class of 1992

"Every parting gives a foretaste of death; every coming together again a foretaste of the resurrection."-Arthur Schopenhauer

Hafa Adai! This blogpost is serving more as a virtual scrapbook for the 20th High School Reunion I missed on Guam this past weekend. A wonderful classmate added these videos to Youtube to share and I wanted to post it here for posterity.

Guam is a small island community, my high school of 200+ graduates even moreso, so I cherish the memories I had with this special group, even if I couldn't fly back to the island to enjoy. Hoping to be there for 25!

This photo of me and the gorgeous Lynda Carter has nothing to do with this post except I think I'm Wonder Woman and she really does want her cape back. Just look at her beautiful sneer.






And, because I love Wonder Woman...

How Do You Maintain MOMENTUM in your writing? Become Wonder Woman...

“One way to keep MOMENTUM going is to have constantly greater goals.”—Michael Korda

Much of the writing process, for me at least involves MOMENTUM. I love to write, to put a spin on a situation that marks it as my own. To present a character who is flawed but likeable, and as I venture into my writing projects, novels in various states of “done-ness” I realize that momentum is necessary to clack one domino to the other.

My son loves watching American Ninja Warrior, it’s like Wipeout without the hilarity and with buffer contestants. One obstacle course requires the warrior jump off a trampoline onto some ropes and swing Tarzan style. Without momentum, he is left bucking in the air just to get this rope to move forward. Often times, I feel like this man. Bucking on my own rope not achieving the momentum I want because I am other things in this world: mom, wife, and lazy bum.

Blogging, reading other authors’ work, journaling are all means of maintaining momentum for me. So, taking time to understand myself in this way is important; especially since my son is mastering his bassist skills on Guitar Hero to the tune of one of my faves, 311 and my daughter is busy creating a world with Hot Wheels and Ikea finger puppets. I’m bucking, wiggling like an idiot to maintain momentum. (G4pic)

I’m working on a new project, while letting others simmer. I’ve copied pictures from the web that will inspire me and found a home for this burgeoning story on my laptop (the best anniversary present from my hubby, ever-2009).

I don’t want to share too many details about this new story, but I will say she’s a teenager searching for identity. I’m melding the Chamorro culture in there (because the world needs to be enlightened about us) as well as my love for super heroines…directly influenced for my love of Comic Con…obviously. So, I will hunt beta readers soon, keeping in mind my 14 year old niece as a beta reader. (This is her warning, if she’s reading this blog).♥♥♥

The scenes of this new novel burst into my brain at weird times, when I’m washing dishes, vacuuming, cooking—(get the sense that I’m a busy domestic goddess?)…at all times, flashes of inspiration consume me. So, I get them in place, get frustrated when the dots don’t connect, but I know. I know this process requires time, a slice of peace and quiet—especially when the kiddies are asleep, and organization. I know how my story starts, where it ends and several scenes in between. It’s getting the momentum to leap from one scene to another that I’m developing.

I guess MOMENTUM is true for anything we choose to do in life. I’m working on my literary stamina, while also keenly aware that I need to apply this to other aspects in my life. Nevermind that in three months our whole life in SoCal will be uprooted as we travel north to life in Washington State. In my Wonder Woman mind, I will complete this new novel, edit the old and jump start another. All the while, mothering, wifing and packing. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

Esta Later!

Enlarged to Show Texture.

"Life is too precious to be spent in this weaving and unweaving of false impressions, and it is better to live quietly under some degree of misrepresentation than to attempt to remove it by the uncertain process of letter-writing.”--George Eliot**Pen Name for Mary Anne Evans

I initially wanted to write an ODE to my Little Brother for this blog post. He left this morning in the wee hours and into the chill of the San Diego morning air with my sister-in-law, after a 3 week visit from Guam. I do miss them and we all agreed that their vacation was too short. I am glad we shared Comic Con memories, food adventures and quality time chatting. Last night, I took them to our go to spot for when family or friends want a cool place to eat when visiting my “village” San Diego.

We later opted to relax at home and the duo spent time with my kids. I had them write messages in the children’s journals (read the post here) and then I broke out old family home videos.

Zoom Video Productions
My late father purchased a home video camera in 1989, when they weren’t a common part of regular households. He had a dream of being a videographer before there was really a niche for that on Guam. After several family gigs done without pay, he turned the lens on the family. The camera was big, bulky, the type you put a huge VHS tape into.

(Googled Pic)


We used to roll our eyes when our dad brought it to every school function—volleyball games, awards ceremonies and Tae Kwon Do events. Now, we realize they are irreplaceable gems of our family’s history. My dad was always documenting, preparing for a future maybe he was unconscious of. A future he might not be a part of, and even though he died in 2007 at 55 years old, he’s still ever-present and a very strong force in my life, my brother’s and his grandchildren's.

My brother and I agreed, that in retrospect, dad’s investment was wise, because last night we watched Christmas gift opening from when we were teenagers. We looked at the date on the bottom of the TV screen and realized that the footage was from 22 years ago. 22! (We had a ‘damn we are old moment together’). The earliest footage of my brother was of when he was 12 and I was 16. And as we hammed it up for the camera, or said cheesy lines as a family, “Merry Christmas 1990!”—we laughed at our former selves, thinner and with dated hair and clothes, but we both appreciated the efforts of our father. My brother and I were energized by watching, learning and reflecting on our past. We watched these movies until 3:30 AM, only stopping because they needed to get to the airport.


The reason I entitled this post, ‘Enlarged to Show Texture’ is that I’ve always felt that people package themselves like a product. Some consciously, others not and others who don’t care about outside opinions. Celebrities do it all the time. After my adventures and celebrity sightings at Comic Con, friends wanted to know many things of the stars I saw: “Is he short?” “Does she look like she does in the movie?” “Did you touch him?” etc. I would point out stars in the crowd or trying to be incognito on the floor to my brother and sister-in-law and their initial reactions were typically, “Really?” or “Wow, he looks so old.” “She’s so tiny!” etc.

When we watch a movie, celebrities are packaged for that role. We see them larger than life through a lens. When we are mere inches or feet from them in the flesh, we see their flaws, their wrinkles, we smell them, we feel that they are warm blooded beings. They’re human. And we can be disappointed by this, or comforted by their sameness.

I’ve gone on a tangent, but I’m trying to tie a nice little bow on this package. I think about people in my life, those who present themselves (or package themselves) without ENLARGING TO SHOW TEXTURE and those who do. I both hate and like such people.

I was staring at a box of caramel popcorn, with graphics enlarged to show texture. The popcorn as depicted on the package wasn’t appealing. It was wrinkled, with globs of crystallized sugar that looked like alien bug eggs. Reality: once you open the box, well, everything is dusted with crumbs, smaller and not at all like the enlargement. That’s applicable to people in life. My brother is who he is. I love him for what he is and how he is an ambassador for our family values. I’m somewhat the same way, I’d like to think. Naturally we want to doll ourselves up for the camera, for an appearance, act more civil and confident than we might be, but showing texture can be both good and bad. I’m circling my theory without landing, so I’ll stop.

I realize with my brother’s visit that time moves at the speed of light. Or as my son says, "Did you know Flash can travel across the city in 35 seconds!?"

We watched ourselves as children and now we are adults, me having children of my own and our minds were blown. We realized as watching footage of a barbecue at my former Mangilao home, that four of the seven relatives lined up to bless the table were now dead. We looked at our old Tae Kwon Do gym with fondness and eyes of adults, pointing out old classmates and updating their whereabouts if we knew. I was glad to be a part of that history, knowing and saddened that the gym had been demolished, a vacant lot by the beach in East Hagatna.

I love and care for the people who count in my life. And, in the end, this is indeed an ode to my baby brother. I will miss him. I’ve known him all his life. And, as I move forward with my family, I still cast a net to my past. To maintain a tie to Guam, to remember my roots. My brother reminds me everyday of my origin story. I want to be better for him. So, when my seven year old cried when we dropped them off at the airport 12 hours ago, it’s because he too has cast this net to family and Guam.

Esta Later….