“In our culture, we recognize that we need each other as we travel throughout the world. Everyone needs a family to love and help wherever you go, that is a true Polynesian way. You are my Ohana when you visit our place. Aloha”
Ella Manumaleuna, Assistant Manager for Reservations, Polynesian Cultural Center Laie, Hawaii.
I went to University in Hawaii and fell in love with Polynesian people and their culture. I belong to an Alumni group which posted the quote above as part of a longer piece to showcase the lovely woman who said it. I read it this morning and was so drawn to the last line – “You are my Ohana when you visit our place.” I immediately thought of painting a sign that said that, to hang in my house. The person who thought that thought resides in my soul. Unfortunately she shares that space with a raging introvert (lets call her my roommate) that guards every inch of her personal territory, especially her home. I wish it wasn’t true. But as I looked for the piece of wood to begin the sign I could feel the resistance building up. The, wait a sec, does “visit” imply invited? Is “Ohana” everybody? Put down the paintbrush and “talk story” to yourself for just a minute. You actually hate when people drop by unannounced. I started to think, maybe I could change the sign to say, You are my Ohana when you are invited to our place. (insert laughing/crying emoji face). I get how that changes the sentiment. And how it separates me from the welcoming, warm nature of the spirit of Aloha. I want to be that person that welcomes everyone, and she’s in there, but my roommate pays a bigger share of the rent.
If you are an introvert I don’t need to explain any more. You are my people and you will read this and smile in recognition and not think any less of me. You might even ask me to make a sign for you. You will know that my close and trusted Ohana are welcome anytime and I will feed them and love them with my last breath. My inner circle is small and treasured.
I read “our place,” in that quote, as home, although I think she meant the Polynesian Cultural Center. But I have met many people like her in the islands and I think that “our place” holds a broader meaning for someone steeped in the culture. It would extend beyond the workplace to anywhere she was. I expect that Aloha wafts out the windows of her house.
For me, home is a very loaded word. Loaded with soft places and warm blankets. It’s the place I am comfortable and more myself than anywhere else. The place that I fill with my people, and their people, and my favorite things. Where I feel held and protected and able to be vulnerable. It is my safe and happy place. And just the way a turtle pulls inside its shell, so do I retreat there when the world is frightening, ugly, mean, dangerous, wearisome or just unfamiliar.
This isn’t to say that there is never conflict, loneliness, trouble or frustrations there. It isn’t always tidy and the furnishings are mostly from another house and another life. There are spaces more aesthetically pleasing and elegant to be sure. There is work that could be done. But the work that matters most to me, is the consecrated construction and renovation of a life that happens there. The nurturing of spirit and soul. The consideration of strengths and weakness and the compassion and encouragement to overcome. Where accountability reigns, but every rising is celebrated and every fall has a protected landing. History and context matter. Trust and loyalty are earned and then not questioned. Wisdom and new ideas are shared and laughter is plentiful. It is a place to set down your burdens, rest, and then find within you the courage to reset, restart or just keep going.
Of course, there have been times and seasons when my home has fallen far short of this, despite the deep desire to make it so. But I have gotten older each year. And I have incrementally carved out the life that I wanted all along. I have claimed choices that were always mine to make but were often clutched tightly by the past or another’s expectations. It has taken a long time to learn that I have always had the right to choose the influences and the treatment I allow in my life and my home. That I had a right to expectations of my own and that compassion wasn’t only for others but also for me. I had to learn that happiness has always been my responsibility.
The struggle for these lessons and victories has been hard fought. And so I guard my gates. I do not offer up any piece of that I am not willing to give.
But I have not closed my gates against love, compassion and community. I want “home” to be a place of safety and refuge for everyone, although we all know homes that are nothing like that and from which damaged people emerge with a deep yearning for things not found there. It is true that “everyone needs a family to love and help wherever you go”. I feel a deep empathy for those for whom family, help and “a place” have not yet been a reality. Treating others with compassion and kindness, helping those in need and understanding that we are all connected are the tenets of my life. I try to live that way both within my walls and without. I believe we have a responsibility to be engaged in creating a world where finding those things is possible.
Which brings me back to Miss Ella and her open invitation to aloha. I do not know her personally but I know what being around her would feel like, and that she would live the words she speaks. My memories of Hawaii are filled with sights and smells but mostly with how deeply changed I was by the friendship, acceptance and generosity offered there without expectation or obligation. I am drawn to her words because they are written on my spirit and appeal to my better angels. I attempt to have them live in my heart and my home and to go with me when I venture out. I have grown to love and honor my roommate and so I will not apologize for the gate. I will work on those in between spaces. And perhaps one day, I will paint the sign and mean every word.
Something to Shay 