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...
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