Los the X-Men Revisited

It's hard for me to figure out where to start this blog because it's so deeply and irrevocably tangled with so many parts of me. I studied Spanish language in high school for two years and would have studied it all four years had I not had a teacher who made me afraid to go to class. I then studied Spanish again in college. Not only did I love the complexities of the language, but the camaraderie that came with spending hours each weekday with my classmates and teacher. I wrote a blog about it back in 2014. We were a gang of Spanish-learning superheroes, and many of us, no matter our skill level, were transformed into friends.

Choosing to study Spanish instead of Hawaiian was more difficult than I expected it to be. My friend once sagely advised that in writing papers, I shouldn't use diacriticals in Hawaiian if I didn't know where to put them. A few years later, a couple of my haole English professors admitted the sensibility of this approach, but both said outright that maybe it was time for me to learn how to use those diacriticals. And I mention that they are haole English professors because they have studied and used Hawaiian language enough to be conversational in it.

But learning Hawaiian language isn't as simple as it seems. It's like breaking a bad habit and picking up new ones. Ones that are good for you. I struggled with my Hawaiianness in my youth, and didn't start valuing it until my twenties. Many friends appeared (and continue to appear) to define themselves by their Hawaiian ethnicity, while I identified myself as a reader, a writer, and if not necessarily as an AMERICAN reader and writer, then at least one without a concrete nationality. I was in limbo.

I'm still in limbo. I'm still struggling to find and shape/be shaped by my Hawaiianness. William K. Kaleihuia said that "a people are known by their language," and that "not talking in our mother tongue in our homes, in churches, and in our very own associations, true Hawaiians are showing that they very much hold in contempt the Hawaiian language and the Hawaiian blood flowing within us."

I have been learning to understand, to recognize, how language roots us. I can see how language is shaped by and shapes our understanding of and relationships to our world. I can grasp the power of language and words and how the hijacking (because that is the way I see it and can find no other word than "hijacking" to mean what I mean) of language twists meaning and values. I learned these things first and foremost as a writer and a reader. I learned that specifically from Dalton Trumbo and Arundhati Roy. And then I learned that from Keanu Sai and Haunani Kay Trask and Teresia K. Teaiwa and so many other writers and nationalists from all over the world.

Does speaking Hawaiian make me Hawaiian? If I do Hawaiian things, am I more Hawaiian? Am I who I am because of what I do? What does it say about me that I studied Spanish for nearly four years instead of Hawaiian? I am also not so great at remembering Hawaiian history. Or history in a general sense as you might find in A People's History of the United States. And yet I attend Hawaiian events because its importance isn't lost on me. It just hasn't become more important to me as quickly or thoroughly as I'd like.

And let me tell you that being a non Hawaiian-speaking Hawaiian at these Hawaiian events makes me feel very un-Hawaiian. Many of the speakers aren't tailoring their speeches for people like me. They speak Hawaiian and appeal to other Hawaiian-language speakers. They all laugh or sigh or applaud at appropriate times while I sit there trying to look respectful without seeming so obviously clueless. I feel very uncomfortable and unwelcome. Is it my fault that I feel this way? Certainly. I chose to study Spanish, not Hawaiian.

So, yes, my teachers were right. It's time I learned Hawaiian. To that end, I joined my brother's Hawaiian language class this summer. He's a great teacher, made all the more great in my eyes not just because we're related, but because I've seen his growth as a human being. As a Hawaiian. I've seen him transform from a position of anger and possibly hate, to one of love and openness. Maybe it's because I know this about him that learning from him feels natural. I know that he isn't judging me (or maybe he is. Who knows? But he's my little brother, so whatevs). He knows that my ignorance isn't a manifestation of contempt. He also knows what my journey has been like and how I came to humbly learn from him.

He's also told me of the criticisms he's faced as a person who learned Hawaiian in school. Our Hawaiian story, as I like to call it, isn't one filled with summers at Tutu's house, learning to throw net or dance hula. He didn't learn Hawaiian at the knees of our kupuna, but in the Hawaii public school system. He sat at a desk and watched the teacher at the front of the room. People have criticized him, told him things to make him feel bad about his Hawaiian identity-- what chance do I have?

Nevertheless, I am determined that I can be Hawaiian  I can (and have) read books and articles written by Hawaiian scholars about our history and more contemporary issues. I have watched videos on YouTube and on TV, I have attended talks and rallies. I have spoken with and listened to Hawaiian activists. I have, slowly but surely, learned more about my Hawaiian history. It is a slow and humbling process, and I think I do it with an open heart.

But I think my understanding of my own Hawaiianness is growing. It's brought me to a place in which I recognize that my definition of Hawaiianness can only be internal. I cannot be overly concerned with what other people expect of me because like just about anything else (am I smart enough? Pretty enough? Strong enough? etc.), living up to someone else's standards won't necessarily bring me joy.

Am I going to continue to learn Hawaiian language? Absolutely. Will I continue to study other aspects of my culture? Yup. But these things are not separate from any other part of me. "Intersectionality" was a huge, beautiful word when I first learned it, and though a person can hear that word to death, it's still powerful. My Hawaiianness isn't simply defined by the Hawaiian things I do. I am beginning to learn this. It is the woman in me who studies and talks about lady stuff like reproductive health; it is the educator in me who wants to help people realize they shouldn't shut up because they think they're bad spellers or some such BS; it is the writer in me who shares these stories to her limited audience in the hopes of not feeling like the only one with these feelings and thoughts and ideas; it is the reader in me who compiles knowledge out of the writings of people who have experienced and thought things similar to and wholly different from me; it is the Chinese girl in me who ever feels not Chinese enough, the Japanese girl who ever feels not Japanese enough, the Hawaiian girl who ever feels not Hawaiian enough.

The last day of Hawaiian language session, all the classes gathered in the school cafeteria for food and fellowship. My brother, sorta famous by now for the party games he puts together, did not disappoint. And I don't know how it always seems to happen, but I found myself part of the loudest team of people, my classmates. And yes, people were speaking Hawaiian (not me) and laughing at appropriate times (but not me) and singing (okay, me) and dancing hula (yeah, not me), I felt not uncomfortable for maybe the first time. I busted out a pen and was about to write on my scrap of paper someone handed out earlier, but I couldn't because I was swept up into conversation with my fellow superheroes. I wanted to write about how I finally felt I belonged in that room of Hawaiian language speakers and learners. I felt a mutual respect not only from my classmates, but from the teachers. And it could be my romantic notions, but it didn't feel like the respect from a teacher toward students who were particularly focused or adept. It felt like an acknowledgement along the journey. That we're all on journeys and that our journeys came to an intersection and we participated in each other's journey, you know? Anyway, it was kind of amazing, that feeling.