Write on, Mama!

Looking for something different to do with your girls ?
Start the New Year, right! WRITE!

Take a moment to "check" yourself:

Moms:
Yes No Have you kept a journal at any time in your life?
Yes No Do you think your life is too busy and there's no time to write?
Yes No Are there stories in your life you wish you could share with your daughters?
Yes No Are you convinced that all your creative juices have run dry?
Yes No Do you feel misunderstood and crave the companionship of other writing mamas who understand your experience?

Daughters
Yes No Have you kept a blog at any time in your life?
Yes No Are there stories in you life you want to write about?
Yes No Any stories you could share with your mother?
Yes No Do you want to feel heard? Do you crave the companionship of other girl writers who understand your experience?
If you answered yes to any of the above- take a mother/daughter time out together!

Give yourself and your daughter the gift of honoring your unique voices. Join Write on Mama! for a mother/daughter writing and creativity workshop!
Have fun and find connection with other mother/daughters! Each mother/daughter pair receives a journal keepsake with fun writing exercises to facilitate on going written communication during workshop and afterwards.
Mother/daughters also have the opportunity to share writing within a safe environment during the following Saturday, mother/daughter dance.

When: January 8 and 9 10 to noon each day (for mothers and pre-teen daughters 8-12) January 10 and 11. 10 to noon each day. (for mothers and their teen daughters 13-18) January 12 optional performance of work with a Mother/Daughter Dance 5 pm to 7 pm

Where: studioBE,63 N. Beretania Street, 2nd floor, Honolulu, Hawaii http://www.studiobehawaii.com/
$50 dollars for each mother/daughter pair
$10, for each additional daughter

To register and arrange payment:
Please call Grace or Moana at 351-4960

About Write on Mama facilitators:
Grace Alvaro Caligtan
Ever since small kid time, Grace began using a journal to help her understand and change the world for better. Today, she is an accomplished mother, experiential educator, and writer. Along with raising her 7 year old daughter, she births poems, plays, and essays. Most recently, she shared a few of her life stories in an all women's storytelling performance, Papayas and Bittermellon: Tales of Bitter and Sweet. Grace produced her first play, My Body My Space which addressed mother/daughter/grandmother communication issues around STDs, HIV, and relationship safety. She has performed in the GirlFest production of The Vagina Monologues and has produced a Filipina cultural adaption of The Vagina Monologues in Waipahu and Honolulu. Her musings on life can be found on her blogs: Pukengkeng Liberation Front and Hip Nanay.

Darlene Rodrigues
As a teenager, Darlene began a secret journal where she observed life in poetic form and thus began her creative journey. This secret writing blossomed into her poems being published in places such as Babaylan: An Anthology of Filipina and Filipina American Writers and Amerasia Journal. Later she realized that poetry was not enough and she began to perform in Los Angeles with the Kalo Projects. Last year she performed in the Filipina cultural adaptation of The Vagina Monologues. Also a videomaker and Olelo producer, Darlene has created educational programs teaching middle school students in Kalihi about video production and the role of self-expression in their lives Around town, she can be found reading her poetry at venues such as The Contemporary Museum, Honolulu Academy of Arts and re:Verses. She is eager to help youth listen to their inner voice and find the courage to uncover their creative fire.

Our Master, Our Monster

Day 1 of the Meetings in SF
It's been an eventful day. We started off by waking up to the Mission District with all it's lovely and no so lovely smells. We stayed with Anj's family overnight. First I have to say we ate the best Mexican food last night which was also cheap!! We walked around the mission and visited Balmy Avenue and the many murals in the district. The picture is of one in another alley which Auntie TK calls Piko Art. I loved it and post it to center me. We had our first dinner together tonight as the network. Women from Guam, South Korea, Okinawa, Japan, CNMI, Philippines, Puerto Rico and the US joined us in a circle. Tonight we introduced ourselves to each other in a unique way. Each woman said her name, where she was from and the gift she brings to the meetings. We sang her name back to her accompanied by using our hands to symbolize her journey and how we bring her name into our hearts. It was poetic and it sounds dorky describing it, but what I got from it was profound and moving. I remember a woman who said that brought her ancestors with her. Another woman whose ancestral ties come from Oceania talked about her endurance. Another woman talked about the gift of her anger. Each woman described something individually but what we felt at the end of the experience was what we embody collectively as people. We all hold anger, we all have endurance, we all bring our ancestors, our ability to connect, our open hearts, our hope. Our sense of humor through the darkness we also feel.

To further introduce ourselves, we split up into groups and were asked to find those we have a close affiliation, whatever that may be by nation, what was a nation, whatever. I saw Ellen and we looked at other Pilipina women in the diaspora, those who live in Hawaii or the US and ended up with the US group. I felt torn because I left Auntie TK and Summer alone. We were asked to identify the freshest wound we could identify with at the moment due to US militarism. I immediately felt the loss of my cousin then the feeling of violence we have from being in the belly of the beast or the "monster" as someone from the Philippines calls the US. We talked about the racism, about domestic violence, of the disconnection and the internalized violence we have in the US, the disempowerment we have ironically as people who come from one of the superpowers of the planet. We were asked to come up with a vision and a concrete action we could do as a group. This was also quite difficult. We talked abstractly, we addressed individual needs to address violence. I said what if the US gave up Hawaii, Guam, Puerto Rico and other places. I know it's pie in the sky, but I wasn't satisfied with something personal. I figure since we are in the belly of the "monster" we should go for something big. Someone asked well what about those of us eg. Filipinos. What are we to do? Leave? I said well it's up to the Kanaka Maoli, they will decide. We have to ask if they want us to stay, we can't assume. We have to trust that they will hold us in their hearts. We have to give up our need for power and trust them. We should not operate from a place of fear. Where does that leave us, most of the folks in the group come from immigrants, none of us native, native to the land called America, except by birth? Just because we were born in US, is this land our birthright? We are in occupied territory, aren't we? Colonized territory? Where does a non-native stand in the vision for self-determination. What kind of self-determination does a disconnected/dispossessed American of non-white ancestry have to the land we live on? Ultimately, self-determination was the vision the US group wanted to hold which would encompass self-determination for dealing with interpersonal violence, violence within and between communities and internationally.

What every group reported back was powerful. Some of the women in the Philippines were denied visas to come to the US. The women of Korea talked about how they felt being treated like criminals to want to travel to the US, from the visa application through coming to customs. The women from Hawaii, Guam, Puerto Rico and CNMI came up with a lovely metaphor of a volcano which is fertile and can create something new. The women from the Philippines came up with 1621. It's been 16 years since the US bases were closed down and 21 years since the overthrow of Marcos. Since that time the presence of US military in the Philippines has escalated and the number of political killings has over tripled since Marcos' time. 16 and 21 years ago there was a strong American movement against Marcos and the US Bases that does not exist today. There are over 1 million Filipinos in the US who send money home, who do not want to talk back to the Master because they serve the Master to feed their families. They want big steps. They need big steps to be taken to deal with the militarization in the Philippines by the US. The Okinawan women talked about the presence of US military feeling like being beaten over and over again. Their visceral description was akin to jabbing and jabbing. The women of Japan talked about the tension of what group to belong to because while they feel a deep kinship with the Okinawan women they have no place being with that group. They needed to give up the need to be with that group when they were coming from a base of power (Japan) and formed their own group. They felt sad because they thought they had dealt with this subject 10 years ago, but the relational issue to power is still there. It reminded me of the work we have to do in Hawaii and the Unsettle Hawaii group and why the need to have our own group to figure out what work we have to accomplish. We have to find some meaning for what self-determination might mean for those of us who live and whose power base is from the belly of the "monster". This is unique and different than what the Kanaka Maoli community must do for themselves. Our quest is to discover what that might mean, then perhaps we can then figure out how not to serve the Master, Our Monster.

Hay(na)ku

At last night's Rant and Rave celebrating the 2nd anniversary of Da Space, Grace read some of her hay(na)ku she wrote while puzzling through her play, "My Body, MySpace". She said she found the structure beautiful in its succinct form as it helped her to focus the intent in her work. Brilliant! I wrote using the form today and found Eileen Tabios website on the subject. http://haynakupoetry.blogspot.com/.

I also had the good fortune of sharing my desire of doing a video documentary project on the death of my cousin, SGT Myla L. Maravillosa who died while serving in Iraq with a Kanaka Maoli filmmaker, Meleanna Meyer. She gave me wonderful suggestions and I hope to chart the progress of my work here in Hay(na)ku form.

Doubt
Shadows me
Tripping my confidence

What
Story on
Video will I

Tell
Others who
Seek to know

"That’s
Interesting, wanting
To be a

Nun
While serving
As a soldier"

Contradictions?
The truth
Died with her

Death of a Citizen

I read the following poem on the eve of the 4th of July this past week at Bringing Back Kerouac, a poetry venue at Anna Bananas in Honolulu. Lately, I've been thinking of this theme-the Death of a Citizen. This theme has been on my mind since reading about Cindy Sheehan's recent departure from the movement so to speak. I've realized that I have written a poem for each anniversary of the Iraq war. I hope to stop writing these in the future.

4 years and 1 anniversary are enough for me

I’m here because of love and because
Love embraced my cousin and carried her to heaven
In the blast of an RPG
I’m here because she was a compassion personate who loved everyone
Even you, Mr. Bush
Even your greed cannot take away the glory of who Myla is
And the lessons she taught me

This may sound strange
But I confess after reading Eckhart Tolle and the Dalai Lama
I truly love you
I know this is coming from someone who is wearing this shirt but
I love you enough to tell you no more
Tell you we must stop
Love the world enough to know there should be no anti in my anti-war poem
As I struggle to turn around what you spit
Your Lies, betrayal, smoke and mirrors
The Doublespeak of greed propped as foreign policy
Your Occupation feigning as humanitarian aid

I struggle to turn around
What you tell the mothers, fathers, and the families
Who have paid the ultimate sacrifice
I struggle to turn around when you gave Auntie a check to go with her body,
Placed a flag on her casket
Held choke memorial services and say we will never forget
I struggle to turn around when you told us we’re proud and
You should be proud of
Your dead daughter who died serving our country
Even if it was for a pack of your lies

I love you enough to tell you
You cannot buy our silence
You will not buy our complicity
You want our loved one’s death
To mean something
Well, you better listen

I love you and the world enough to tell you,
Fuck you, stop telling me I’m not proud of my loved one
When I tell you that our country should not occupy
Should not lie
Should not kill and arm ourselves with nuclear technology
Should not embargo or send in more troops
I love you enough to tell you
Stop spreading your bases in too many places

I love you enough to tell you
Take back the flag you drape on the caskets
Take back your false honor
And the blind patriotism shoved down our grieving throats
We’ve already wept enough

I love you enough to tell you what I am proud of
I am proud of her regardless of the circumstances of her death
I am proud because she was someone who cared about the poor
Who worried about the Iraqi children and the world that they lived in
I am proud because she kept her honor and kept true to her word and went
I am proud because she wouldn’t have used her own death as a reason to oppress another human
I am proud because she knew of the conflict between holding the bible in one hand and a gun in the other

Mr. Bush the lesson from Myla runs deep
This comes from the love that will save this world from you when I say
Fuck you
Step back
Keep your pack of lies and dirty tricks
And listen when I say “enough already”
My words will never erase the anniversary my family will celebrate each Christmas
We cannot erase the anniversaries of other families who’ve lost someone
But I love you enough to tell you no more
We need to stop making these anniversaries.

It's the little things that bring beauty

I learned another Cebuano word today, "ango ango" or something like it. When my ma and I visited my aunt and she asked my mom if she wanted to go to the Philippines for All Souls Day, I mouthed to her that my ma was getting forgetful. I display my fear of her traveling. Of course, my ma kind of heard when I said she's getting forgetful. She said in Cebuano to my aunt that I think that she's "diango ango" already. Forgetful or having dementia already my aunt translated. My ma is a tough lady that way, full of indignation and huffiness at me and my whispering around her.

I don't like saying it for fear of the truth, but it's the truth. She's getting forgetful. She takes a medicine that helps retain her memory. It can't rebuild the memory but it'll help her not lose more than she already has. I pray every night that it works.

What is that thing of beauty I wanted to mention? My ma holding up a bunch of lychee she picked. A bunch she wants to keep for herself. A low-bearing tree full of red fruit bursting from the sweetness of the sun is a thing of beauty. I took a picture using my camera phone. It's low resolution, but it'll hold my memory of these times with her for a long time. I can't help but share it with others as I PIX message it to my friends. My act saying, "Look, bear witness to these times of beauty." Help me to remember these sweet tastes of summer, when my mother hoards the ripest fruit for herself and I do the same pocketing the big ones. How we laugh and joke as we go along telling each other not to miss that one or this one. We wonder at the size of the fruit or how much we have picked. We sit and eat the ones that split from falling to the ground. We plot and scheme how to reach the highest fruit. How she got the scythe on the long pole and starting cutting, her instinct for pruning and getting the fruit kicking in. How we worked in tandem side by side. One using body memory locked in from years of farming and harvesting, the other remembering and praying not to forget. Remember, remember, these times of beauty.

Nuchi du takara: Life is a treasure

"Life is a treasure" in Okinawan. I wore it proudly in red on a white headband yesterday at the Japanese consulate. On Friday, in solidarity with the Okinawan community who have been protesting the construction of another US military base in Okinawa.

A fitting end to the week. It started off with hearing His Holiness the Dalai Lama on Tuesday. When he walked up the stairs, the tears burst out of my eyes. It was as if I had seen an old friend whom I have missed so many years. Perhaps it was the presence of calm and compassion that filled the stadium. What I felt: there is hope for this world. The tears ran down my face as I committed to memory this feeling this calmness that comes upon understanding that hope is possible. Upon gazing at this simple monk in his saffron and maroon robes what came to me was that there is hope for this world.

I'm strugging for the words to describe the journey of the week.

Life is a treasure truly. My friend Anna and I were just talking now about slowing down and listening to ourselves as writers. Oftentimes we overschedule ourselves with activity and find it hard to just sit. Part of the writing process is just keeping still enough to hear that voice in your head. To listen to your voice and your story, or the story that waits to make it to the page.

My story this week: After an adjustment at the chiropractor, I move like a Tahitian dancer and didn't know it. I am more flexible in how I deal with life. Life is a treasure, truly. There are moments of struggle and disagreement when there are things that are clearly not in harmony with the value of treating others with kindness and respect. Henoko is an example of such a struggle.

After the Wednesday dharma talk on the 8 verses of an Enlightened Mind, we climbed into our cars, faced the traffic leaving Kahului and found ourselves in Paia at the Temple. There we met the Japanese priest who told us the story of the genealogy of a king of Okinawa who was exiled and who refused to return to Okinawa as a Japanese citizen. He defied and disagreed with the colonization of his people and his culture. We were in the presence of great mana or spirit that day. We could feel it. So palpable. His spirit and his family's spirit written on simple pieces of wood that defies being discarded carelessly. My hope is that being there inspires us to action to remember that life is a treasure. The ocean, what our ancestors give us, simple and strong acts of resistance are treasures. I carried this strength with me to the consulate to help in letting them know, that destroying part of an island for military uses is not okay.

I am finishing this now more than a month later and wondering how I let time slip by to forget to finish this blog. My mother and I are eating lunch at the table this Kamehameha Day. We talk of parades and long beans. We journey to Whitmore this afternoon to pick lychee. This is time well spent. Time is truly a treasure.

Techno-no-logy

One of the students before afternoon class today asked, "Why are we learning techno-no-logy?" I said, "You mean technology? Because it's a good skill to know, how to use the computer, use I-Movie, the camera, etc." I thought it was a strange question, but that's ML, a 7th grader. She wants to be a comedian when she grows up.

Our conversation before class rang in my ears as I walked through Circuit City tonight on my quest for the cable needed to connect my video camera to the computer. On the way out I stopped by the Verizon Wireless counter as I am due a new phone. As I browsed the many models of LG's, Razers, Samsung's, I felt overwhelmed. Which phone should I get? One that plays MP3s, connects me to the internet so you can check e-mail, takes great pictures, videos, is easy to use when texting. Heaven forbid I get txt-thumb-injury, which is a true malady in places like Asia where txting is an cheap means of communication. Camera phones are up to 2.0 megapixels which is pretty good. The sales guy showed me the new tv phone. Frowning at the idea of watching tv on a phone, I quipped, "Whatever happened to just calling someone up?" He retorted, "It's technology, you gotta keep up." I did take the brochures he gave me.

I left the store after purchasing the needed cable without a new phone. This is what I want. Instead of a phone that will give me clear pictures of a beautiful place. I'd rather be in a beautiful place and see it in person. Instead of watching tv on a phone, I hope to be at home watching tv or in a theater watching a film on big screen. Instead of using my phone for e-mail, I'd rather using my laptop and catch free wifi at a cafe. I don't want to be traveling around so much that I can't use a laptop, a phone or a tv. Well, unless I was in the mountains on a hike, but then again, I'd rather be present to the place, then checking my e-mail. Maybe it's me, but ML the 7th grader has got it right, sometimes you have to put the NO in Techno-no-logy.

Rant and Rave!

So I've been taken, no fallen, into the blog world thanks to my friend Grace and her blog. Check it out, Pukenkeng Liberation Front. I am inspired by her courage to out herself on the web with her blog. Once sacred kitchen table space, the web has become a venue for sharing our ideas, discussions, beliefs, hopes and dreams. Urban Babaylan on the web!!

My hopes for this blog is to archive what I am doing, thinking, saying, writing and dreaming. It will also force me to write and write about the process. I have many projects I am currently working on and processing through writing has always helped me get through it to the other side. Perhaps it will also keep me accountable to my dreams. I also want an identity outside of my paid job which I love, but it is not my whole sense of self. I want to make sure I work the muscle that helps me to pump out my creativity.

Last night's Rant and Rave 1st anniversary at the daSpace where DaArt is DaWord was so much fun! Auntie Moana always hosts a wonderful evening, a true hostess with the mostest. And she even sang, too! It was the 3rd Rant and Rave for myself. My alter ego came out in full force for the piece, "Island People Epistemology: Switchum". I'm sending it over to Susan Miller who will put it out on the web. As soon as I get the info, I'll post it and link it to the blog.

Yesterday morning, I had a wonderful conversation with Grace about finding one's voice and how to switch out of an ego-driven paralytic funk. You see, I've got Eckhart Tolle and New Earth on my mind lately as I slog through it for this book group me and my friends formed. My explanation of switching out of voicelessness in stages came tumbling out. We shared our stories of being in meetings where people don't say what they mean and everyone goes all chicken when it comes to telling the truth. In our conversation I explored my ideas of how and why local people don't say anything when we know something is wrong. The seed of the poem started there. I remembered my frustration during community planning meetings for public health where most of the local people sat silenced. Is this experience just a mini example of the larger silencing that is happening in Hawaii? How can we apply the concepts of this metaphysical thinker to Hawaii and this local arena? I think can, can.

So for now, I leave you the title of one of the poems I am writing: "The Tae of My Futlessness, Not to Be Confused with the Tao of Pooh." In case you didn't know, "tae" means "excrement" in many Pilipino languages. It's gonna be a good one, I can feel it in my gut. Look for it at the next Rant and Rave!