What It Means Fo’ Be One Local
Many people believe that living in Hawaiʻi means you’re surrounded by paradise and palm trees, which may be true to a certain extent. Growing up in Hawaiʻi is both a privilege and a blessing, and learning early on how to accept people from various cultures, socioeconomic groups, and ethnicities has contributed significantly to developing my personal worldview. I was taught life lessons that included everything from taking your slippers off before you walk into someone’s house, to never showing up to a party empty handed. I have many fond memories of my upbringing in Hawaiʻi; however, there are other aspects to being a local that people who recently moved here may not necessarily understand. Both Lois-Ann Yamanaka and Lisa Linn Kanae provide genuine insight on the ups and downs of what it’s like to be “one local” through writing about situations and experiences that are unique to Hawaiʻi’s local communities and the people who belong to them.
This paper will analyze a number of poems found in Saturday Night at the Pahala Theatre by Lois-Ann Yamanaka, as well as some of the short stories found in Lisa Linn Kanae’s Islands Linked by Ocean. Saturday Night at the Pahala Theatre highlights more of the “behind-the-scenes” situations that occur in Hawaiʻi; things such as cosmetic surgery, and growing up without mom or dad around all the time. Islands Linked by Ocean is a collection of short stories written about the “everyday lives” of local people, and the situations they encounter on a daily basis. Even though the specific details of each piece may not be entirely applicable to the reader’s life, the overarching storylines Kanae develops are something that many local people can empathize with (e.g., supporting your friends, and dating someone who is not the same ethnicity as you). The primary purpose of this paper is to analyze how both authors’ writing reflects “local culture,” and how growing up or living in Hawaiʻi has played a significant part in the development of local people’s unique practices and their perception of the world. Both Yamanaka and Kanae provide accounts - from a local person’s perspective - that illustrate what life is like here, and they describe situations that may only be understood by someone who has lived here for a long time. However, even though their topics of writing are similar in that aspect, the content of Saturday Night at the Pahala Theatre and Islands Linked by Ocean vary considerably.
The four poems I will look at from Saturday Night at the Pahala Theatre are: 1) “Kala Gave Me Anykine Advice Especially About Filipinos When I Moved to Pahala,” 2) “Tita: Japs,” 3) “Prince PoPo, Prince JiJi,” and 4) “Glass.” The four stories I’ve selected from Islands Linked by Ocean are: 1) “The Steersman,” 2) “Born-Again Hawaiian,” 3) “Luciano and Da Break Room Divas,” 4) “The Weight of Water and Color.” In my analyses, I will review the content of each poem or story, and discuss how it reflects local culture, the daily lives of local people, and what it means to live in Hawaiʻi. With this information, it is my hope that people who were not born or raised in Hawaiʻi may gain a better understanding of what it means to grow up “local,” and can make sense of who we are and why we do, say, or feel certain things.
Hawaiʻi has its own unique culture made up of a conglomerate of cultures, sampling from the Chinese, Hawaiians, Japanese, Koreans, Filipinos, the list goes on and on. The languages we speak, the food we eat, and the values we adhere to are just a few things that are heavily influenced by other cultures and ethnicities. In “Kala Gave Me Anykine Advice Especially About Filipinos When I Moved to Pahala,” readers are given a few examples of the unique habits implemented by local people. Things such as: no whistling in the dark, no sleeping with your feet towards the door, no sleeping with wet hair, no clipping your nails at night, no wearing tight jeans, no using someone else’s deodorant, and no making ugly faces (Yamanaka 15-16). I know when I was growing up, my mom would warn me against doing most of the things listed in the poem as well. To this day, I make sure that my feet never face the doorway when I sleep, and I refuse to cut my nails at night. These superstitions that Yamanaka writes about are common knowledge for most families living in Hawaiʻi, inspired by the various ethnic cultures that inhabit the islands; they are the local version of “do’s and don’ts.”
In addition to the way various cultures influence the superstitions of local people in Hawaiʻi, the exposure to people of other ethnicities also affects the social expectations people hold themselves to, especially when it comes to physical appearance. In “Tita: Japs,” we see how the narrator perceives the physical appearance of Japanese people, and how that perception influences what she expects of herself. The narrator of this poem reminds me a lot of my mom because she always used to tell me how the other Japanese girls in her class would try “all kine” tactics to make their eyes bigger, or create their own double eyelids. When she was growing up in the 1970s, the only kinds of beauty ideals she was exposed to were girls with white skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes, even though Japanese people made up a fairly large percentage (28.3%) of the population in Hawaiʻi during that time (Nordyke and Matsumoto 169). Through Yamanaka’s text, we can see how those images influenced the self-perception of young girls who were not haole, or Caucasian, and the lengths they went to in order to change their physical appearance:
You know how long take me for put glue on my eyelid. Plus my eye shadow and mascara [...] Took one hour for look normal again. I wish I had double eye. I tell you, my next birthday, when my madda ask me what I like, I going tell her I like go Honolulu for get one double eye operation. [...] Look Donna now, all nice her eyes, and she no need buy Duo glue or Scotch tape anymore for make double eye. I take the operation any day. (Yamanaka 33)
In modern day Hawaiʻi, there are still remnants of these beauty ideals. Many of my friends dye their hair blonde, wear colored contacts so their eyes are lighter, and - much like my mom’s generation - long to have large eyes with double eyelids, so they wear loads of makeup and glue their eyelids together. If given the option, I’m sure some of them would turn to cosmetic surgery to make that part of their daily beauty routine permanent. However, if their parents are anything like mine, they probably know better than to ask for something that is perceived as a “pointless waste of money.”
In local culture, it is very common for relatives other than a child’s parents to raise, or play a part in raising, the children within a family. In “Prince PoPo, Prince JiJi,” and “Glass,” readers can see the influence, or lack thereof, of a girl’s parents in her life while growing up. In “Prince PoPo, Prince JiJi,” the narrator is in charge of feeding the chickens while her father is away. When her father returns home, he criticizes her for not being able to feed Prince PoPo without getting pecked: “Look you, you no shame you no can handle tings for me while I gone? I thought you said you know how for take care?” (Yamanaka 92). This poem embodies a very common occurrence in local culture, where children are often given the responsibility to make sure things are taken care of in their parents’ absence. When I was in middle school, I remember going to a friend’s house on the weekends and helping her cook, clean, and babysit her younger siblings. She would tell me that her parents were both at work and as the oldest - even though she was only 11-years old - she was responsible for watching over her younger brother and sister.
There could be a number of reasons as to why parents would not be able to raise their own child(ren), but a very common one is directly linked to the family’s economic status. Hawaiʻi’s cost of living is extremely high in relation to our living wages, which remains one of the lowest in the country. According to Eric Pape, a journalist for the Honolulu Civil Beat, the high prices for amenities are only part of the reason why Hawaiʻi is considered to be such an unaffordable place to live: “There is no economic rule that says salaries in [Hawaiʻi] are - or should [be] - pegged to the cost of living” (“Living Hawaii”). As a result, many lower-middle income parents work long hours or multiple jobs, and cannot fully participate in childrearing. Other members of the family (e.g., the child’s older siblings or grandparents), sometimes even family friends, then take it upon themselves to raise the child in the parent’s absence.
For the most part, this help is appreciated, but there are certain instances where parents are concerned about how that assistance makes them look. In “Glass,” we see a first-hand example of this when the narrator’s mother tells her daughter, “Tell that old man I like you home by 5:00 or I calling the cops. Who he think him, your fadda? We no need his pity” (Yamanaka 106). These are sentiments shared by many parents in Hawaiʻi who feel ashamed that they are unable to look after their child(ren) on their own. This is not something you’ll read in any scholarly journal or article, but stubbornness and pride are two common fatal flaws many local people possess. My mother used to tell my brother and I that we were atama ga pakikī, a phrase that was a mixture of Japanese and Hawaiian, which meant we were stubborn or “hard head.” It prevents us from admitting when we are wrong or asking for help, even if we really need it.
Another unique aspect of local culture is our use of language. I don’t mean Chinese, or Japanese, or even Hawaiian; I mean the frequency of cussing in our everyday conversations. In many places around the world, profanity is seen as “taboo,” and often associated with “moral turpitude” (Livni); however, in Hawaiʻi, this is not necessarily the case. Calling someone a “dumbass” or “asshole,” is not necessarily derogatory and in some cases, it can be seen as a term of endearment. There is not as much stigma towards cursing, and local people often swear in “normal” conversations, as we see in Kanae’s “The Steersman:”
Motha-fuck! I said PULL. PULL, you fuckin’ monkeys. Numba Three. Timing! Watch da fuckin’ blade in front of you. You blind or what? Numba Four, if you not going pull, den get your fat ass out of this canoe and swim the fuck back. Hopeless piece of shit. Numba One, no let da other canoe pass us. PICK UP THE PACE, jackass. (Kanae 9)
When Cyril is swearing at the paddlers and calling them names, local people reading the story know that he isn’t saying those things maliciously or with the intent to hurt their feelings; that’s just the way he talks. He utilizes cussing to motivate the people in the canoe, and inspire them to push themselves to be better. When I first read this story, I couldn’t help but laugh. Even though I have never paddled for a team, Cyril reminded me of almost every coach I’ve ever had (except for my haole soccer coach in high school who was from Colorado). They would swear and scream until they were purple in the face, but it’s what made us work harder, and it was a big reason why we grew so fond of them. We knew that if they weren’t passionate, if they didn’t care, they wouldn’t be so angry when we messed up.
Local people display their passion in many ways, and whether it be through words or actions depends on the individual. In “Born-Again Hawaiian,” we see how Manu applies her passion for the revitalization of Hawaiian culture and its people through various changes in her life, and we also witness how receptive her husband, Sheldon, is to those changes. The internal struggle of identity within Hawaiian people, which has been a common theme in many of our readings throughout the semester, is personified in Manu and Sheldon’s relationship. Manu - whose birth name is Melissa - asks Sheldon to begin calling her “Manu” after she learns more about activism and the Hawaiian sovereignty movement. Sheldon is resistant to this change making comments like, “But I fell in love with a Melissa [...] Now I’m supposed to call you Manu? That means bird, right? So you one bird now? [...] Is this a born-again Hawaiian thing? [...] A couple more semesters at UH, [...] and I going see you on the news sticking middle finger at the governor” (Kanae 47). Similar to the storyline of Alani Apio’s Kāmau Aʻe, Sheldon and Manu disagree as to whether Hawaiians should be fighting to restore what has been taken from them, or if they should just move on from the past.
Both of their positions are rooted in the things they were taught, and how they learned to deal with conflict. Manu is very pro-active and argues that being complacent does nothing to help the revitalization of Hawaiian culture, but Sheldon disagrees because that is not the way he was raised: “He was taught to shut up. Be humble. No make waves. Take it in stride” (Kanae 48). These are common virtues that local people begin to instill in their children from a very young age. I can’t count how many times I was told to “just shut up and listen” during a lecture from my parents. My brother caught on pretty quickly, but much like Manu, I have never been one to avoid conflict and bite my tongue.
Another way people from Hawaiʻi show passion is through their love for others. It is not uncommon for local people to have a couple of friends in their lives who they have had a relationship with since elementary school, or even pre-K. Building connections and maintaining relationships is extremely important to local people; which is part of the reason why the most commonly asked question right after you meet someone from Hawaiʻi is, “Eh, where you wen graduate from?” In “Luciano and Da Break Room Divas,” Kanae illustrates a typical office friendship among three local women in Hawaiʻi. Cherie and Tsuki look after their friend Hattie, whose husband passed away, and they do whatever they can to make sure that she is okay. At a certain point in the story, Jayne - a co-worker that they dislike - makes a big fuss over some paperwork that Hattie misplaces. Cherie proceeds to tell Tsuki, “You heard dat frickin’ Jayne bitching about da budget file? I was ready for take her outside” (Kanae 60). Cherie’s love for her friend manifests itself in protective anger, and she wants to beat Jayne up for making a scene about Hattie’s mistake.
Because Hattie is struggling at work, Cherie and Tsuki decide to buy tickets for the three of them to see her favorite opera singer in concert. When Cherie is trying to convince her husband to let her purchase the expensive tickets, she tells him, “Hattie was da one who wen help me get dis office job [...] She da one told me I could do it. I owe her” (Kanae 63). The tickets are a way for Cherie to show her love and be there for Hattie, the same way Hattie was there for Cherie. In addition to being a source of unconditional support, it is important to local people to reciprocate the kindness that their friends have shown them. My mother and her best friend have remained close since they were in middle school, just as I and my best friend have since we were in second grade. I know that we would do nearly anything for each other, and we would always be there for one another whenever we needed it most. Whether it is cheering friends up when they are sad, or backing them up in a fight, local people are loving and loyal to a fault.
This bond of friendship is also illustrated in “The Weight of Water and Color,” where three friends from high school maintain contact with each other by having lunch together about once a year. In the beginning of the story, Ramona is talking to Jillian on the phone about how all local girls go through a “haole-boy stage,” where they date a white boy at some point in their lives. Jillian is a mix of numerous ethnicities - Hawaiian, Japanese, Spanish, and French, among others - and married to a haole. She feels Ramona is targeting her when she says, “It’s always, always about race. But, that’s Hawaiʻi” (Kanae 143). Even though mixed marriages are common, they are frowned upon by many local cultures, especially if you marry a haole.
When Ramona, Jillian, and Orchid are at lunch, Ramona tells Jillian she’s “living the dream” because she’s married to a haole, and they begin to argue about why the color of his skin matters in the life Jillian is building with him. Orchid finally tells them to shut up and says, “Color is color. It is what it is. You have your health. You do what you want to do. You have husbands who love you. Why analyze this to death? Just be happy” (Kanae 153). Ramona’s sentiments represent a conventional local person’s perspective, while Orchid’s represent a more modern one. When I was in high school, my grandma and great-aunt would always tell me how important it was that I marry a “nice, Japanese boy.” When I went through my “haole-boy stage,” they questioned why I was dating someone who was white; they said that marrying a haole boy would only cause more problems in the long run, and it wasn’t worth it. My parents, on the other hand, were not bothered by it as much. They said that as long as he treated me right and made me happy, they didn’t care about what ethnicity he was, or the color of his skin.
There is much more to growing up in Hawaiʻi than just going to the beach with your family and firing up the hibachi for barbeques on the weekends. Being “local” means that you are exposed to various cultures, beliefs, and practices from a very young age. These experiences all play a part in determining the values you are instilled with and treasure throughout your life. If you were born and raised in Hawaiʻi, or have lived in the islands for the majority of your life, this unique upbringing plays a significant part in determining how you act, what you think, and why you feel certain things. It also contributes to your perception of the world, and how you interpret things differently from someone who grew up in Massachusetts, for example. Lois-Ann Yamanaka and Lisa Linn Kanae both do a wonderful job at illustrating various aspects of what it’s like to grow up local and live in Hawaiʻi. By analyzing various pieces of their work, we can see that their ability to reflect the reality of local culture in their writing allows people who were not born or raised in Hawaiʻi to gain more insight and a better understanding of what it truly means to be “local.”
Works Cited
Kanae, Lisa Linn. Islands Linked by Ocean. Bamboo Ridge Press, 2009.
Livni, Ephrat. “A new study linking profanity to honesty shows people who curse are more authentic.” Quartz, 10 Jan. 2017, qz.com/881289/a-new-study-linking-profanity-to-honesty-shows-people-who-curse-are-more-authentic/. Accessed 24 April 2017.
Nordyke, Eleanor C., and Scott Y. Matsumoto. “The Japanese in Hawaii: a historical and demographic perspective.” Hawaiian Journal of History, vol. 11, 1977, pp. 162-174. University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa eVols, doi: hdl.handle.net/10524/528. Accessed 24 April 2017.
Pape, Eric. “Living Hawaii: Warning Signs - Many People Can Earn More Elsewhere.” Honolulu Civil Beat, 26 Feb. 2015, www.civilbeat.org/2015/02/living-hawaii-warning-signs-many-people-can-earn-more-elsewhere/?utm_medium=email&utm_source= users&utm_campaign=morning_beat. Accessed 24 April 2017.
Yamanaka, Lois-Ann. Saturday Night at the Pahala Theatre. Bamboo Ridge Press, 1993.
