What Makes Me Hawaiian? pt 2

My grandmother is on the far right. I think I look more like her than anyone else in the family... and here are my great-grandparents who were the first generation in our family.

Being a 4th generation Korean-American from Hawaii, my relatives are generally English-speaking. My family endured a lot as one of the first families to immigrate to Hawaii from Korea. I'm sure it would make for a great K-drama plot.

I am still unaware of the specific details of what life was like for my great grandparents more than 100 years ago. When I see my great aunts, I'm amazed at how lively they are, with such joy in seeing their children and grandchildren grow up. All of them outlived their spouses. They're so active and strong, at ages nearing the mid 90s.

This reminds me of my recent research into Japanese contemporary art that explores the gender role of females in their society. From being referred to as "child-making devices" by a government official, and the twisted obsession with young adolescent girls, Japanese women have to endure and grieve over the loss of their identity in a society that takes them for granted... for as long as an average of 84 years of their lives. Japanese women live longer than either gender in any other country. Japan is full of old grandmothers, yet the obsession for underdeveloped youth girls is still a cultural norm. Photographer Miwa Yanagi does a series called "My Grandmothers" where she uses digitally altered photography and special-effects make-up to depict young women 50 years from now.

http://www.yanagimiwa.net/My/e/index.html
Check out the site, it has the stories and other details of the project.

I regret not asking my grandmother what it was like to be a Korean-American woman in Hawaii, and how it encouraged or discouraged her to thrive as an individual. Defining my unique identity through my own life experiences is difficult as it is, and learning my own family history seems so necessary in completing the idea. At times, as I visited Hawaii, I did not feel like I fit in. I've lived in Atlanta, Georgia for more than 17 years now, yet I would not consider this my hometown. The last time I went to Korea was when I lived there as a child, and even then, I attended an American school at the U.S. Military base. South Korea is not my home either.

In the age of globalization, various cultures are represented in major metropolitan cities, where anyone can have a taste of another country's unique lifestyles. Unfortunately, what happens is that locals take on the false projection of a particular culture, which in reality is so much more rich at core. And with its misinterpretations and over-generalizations, the pursuit of authenticity is becoming more and more vain in America. Americanized Japanese food, Americanized Chinese Food, and so on... I wonder if cultural authenticity is even an issue with the majority of people in the U.S. anymore... What globalization should encourage is more opportunities for travel in the public education system to prepare the next generation in global affairs. Exposure to people who are different than your typical neighbor will surely extinguish any roots of ignorance or narrow-mindedness.

When thinking about what my art is about, I must take all these things into consideration.

sigh......... whew, it's one tough research assignment. "What the hell is my art about?" I know that I should know what I don't know, but in not knowing what I know nor what I don't know, I'm just doing art for the sake of doing art, and what's wrong with that!? BUT!! I think I may know a bit about what I absolutely don't know, therefore my art can not be about that, right!? It rules out SOMETHING, so yes, I am on the right track. Thanks, Paul.

I am a Korean - Hawaiian - American Southerner, female, and fairly young...


I am who I am.

What makes me Hawaiian?

Although I was born in Honolulu, Hawaii, there are many things I have not yet experienced as a local. I have so many memories of Hawaii... and as I described a few to my mom her eyes widened with shock because supposedly I was only 2 years old when many of these events took place. At any rate, aside from my childhood memories of blissful walks in the neighborhood and visits to the beach and the pool, the most vivid memories are of summers spent at my grandparents' house.

I remember how the mangoes tasted from the mango tree in their backyard. I was always so fascinated by it, with its leaves and branches so lush and expressive. The breakfast table was just an extension of the kitchen, sort of like a breakfast bar but level with normal tables. The dinky stools we used to sit on were never very comfortable but it was perfect for plopping down to eat mangoes, fresh papaya with squeezed lemon juice, or meals consisting of rice and Portuguese sausage (which I have to admit is the best sausage ever!!). There was always organized mail, an array of post-it notes, and lots of vitamins against the wall on the breakfast table.

I can just see my Grandma sitting there with her bifocals tilting her head up to look down at a to-do list she just finished writing. "Give me some sugar, sweetheart," she would say, as she puckered up her thin lips to welcome a peck from me. Haha, she was so cute when she would make her smile appear and disappear in a flutter... so silly, yet slightly disturbing. I could never figure out how she did that.

Grandpa would be sitting in his recliner, remote in hand, quiet and content with watching TV for hours on in. I don't remember much else about my Grandpa from earlier visits but during my last visit before he passed away, he and I shared several cups of coffee over the course of a couple weeks, sitting together at the breakfast table. Awkward, but somewhat peaceful... He's not much of a talker. He tried to ask me how school was and how things were going in general. But that was the end of that. Wait... Ha! How could I forget what he said the first time I saw him in 8 years! I arrived in Honolulu, then was promptly taken to the hospital to see him. I walked in with a big smile, hoping he would be happy to see me after so many years, then... looking at me, then at my brother, and after a glance at me again, he says to my brother, "Eh, she fatta den you..." sigh... Lovely, just lovely...

If you've been to Hawaii, I'm sure you noticed the dialect is very colorful. It's called Hawaii Pidgin. I actually own a copy of the New Testament in Hawaii Pidgin called "Da Jesus Book," written all funky... Here is the most famous Bible verse, John 3:16 in the local people's talk:

"God wen get so plenny love an aloha fo da peopo inside da world, dat he wen send me, his one an ony Boy, so dat everybody dat trus me no get cut off from God, but get da real kine life dat stay to da max foeva."

I learned to talk while I was in Hawaii. Not everyone there has a strong accent, just how not everyone in Atlanta has a strong Southern accent. But, one of my cousins from Florida told me I used to have the Pidgin accent as a kid. Every time I visited Hawaii, I'd call my friends and they'd tell me I spoke differently... The thing is, if I TRY to speak Pidgin, I sound retarded, but I think it rubs off on me a bit when I'm there. Haha, languages, dialects, accents, slang... it's all so fascinating to compare and pick apart.

I wish I had pictures of my grandparents' house. I may need to ask my brother if he has any. When I remember things, it's usually set within the parameters of the spatial arrangement (maybe I should dip my toes into interior design... haha). I remember the setting more than I remember specific conversations. It's how I'm wired. My earliest memories are just visions of rooms, pathways, and the various details that make-up the space.

To Be Continued...

Damn, it's hot.

Pineapple Soju (although I am not a fruity drink kinda gal) is a space where readers will see various happenings through the lens of a 4th generation Korean-American from Hawaii. I am an artist, with much to learn in the world of art-making and I intend on regurgitating the everyday nuances I take in as I live my life.