Aloha mai,
Here's my last blog for the season.
Mahalo,
Aulani
Blog #25 He Pūkoʻa Kani ʻĀina
Pule 25 (3/19/17-3/26/17)
Aloha mai e nā maka heluhelu, nā ʻohana, a me nā hoa piha i ke aloha iā Hōlanikū. Ua hōʻea nō ka pau ʻana o ko mākou noho ʻana i Hōlanikū nei. Hō ka wikiwiki o ka holo ʻana o ka manawa! I loko o koʻu makemake ʻole e haʻalele, hauʻoli au i ka hoʻi ʻana i kuʻu ʻohana. He mea kupaianaha nō ka hiki ke noho a ʻike maka i kēia ʻāina kūpuna. ʻO kēia kahi aʻu i hoʻoulu ai i nā ʻano like ʻole. Pōmaikaʻi wale nō kēia.
Well, this is it gangeh. The Winter camp ʻ16-ʻ17 has finally come to an end. Brah, I still canʻt believe how fast these past six months have flown by. It seems as if just yesterday we arrived ashore from the Kahana. Six months ago, I arrived as a fresher, lighter-skinned, and much smaller version of myself. Now Iʻll be returning home weathered, tanned, and twice the wahine I was before I left - both physically and mentally.
Our last week was spent completing the last of our work tasks, packing, and preparing the camp for the Summer crew. This week wasnʻt only a process of preparing camp for the next crew, but also a process of preparing myself for the emotional transition of leaving Hōlanikū and returning to civilization. I was just going through the motions of packing, not thinking too much about it, until it finally hit me on Wednesday. We really are leaving. It just seems so surreal. Since then, Iʻve been going through undulations of being depressed, excited, anxious, and ready to return home. Now, intensifying this emotional roller coaster, we found out that our departure would be delayed not only once but twice. First, our expected departure on Friday was delayed ʻtil Saturday. Next, Saturday became Sunday. Now, weʻre looking at leaving on Monday. As this delay drags out longer, my feelings and emotions are dragged even more. If it were to keep happening, Iʻd probably end up going pupule.
Itʻs pretty crazy to think that in a few hours, the very first people we will see after six months will be the crew members of the Summer ʻ17 camp. Whatʻs even more crazy is that we will go from living in isolation to returning to the crazy, busy town of Honolulu first thing. Talk about a cultural shock. Now, weʻll be switching from living among five people to being among 5 million others. Weʻll also swap out the thousands of birds with thousands of cars and buildings. Iʻm not sure Iʻll even remember how to drive. Iʻm just glad weʻll have about a week on the Kahana to slowly acclimate to being around other people besides the five that weʻve lived with for 6 months, eat fresh food, take hot showers, wash clothes, SLEEP, and most of all, prepare ourselves for the transition of a different lifestyle.
Well gangeh, we made it! Living on Hōlanikū, witnessing the beauty of our ʻāina kūpuna, has been the best experience of my life. This season wasnʻt easy. It was hard work. Iʻve gone through various phases, realized many things, changed my perspectives in life, and became stronger both physically and mentally. My love for the ʻāina, my kūpuna, my ʻohana, and the future generations has only deepened. I have been, and will always remain kūpaʻa in my beliefs. As hard as it is to leave Hōlanikū, I know I will return one day. I heard the voices of my kūpuna calling me to this ʻāina and here I am. Like a bird traversing through the sea, I will arrive ashore one day, and return home.
Eia ka ʻōlelo noʻeau o kēia pule: “He pūkoʻa kani ʻāina” (A coral reef that grows into an island). A person beginning in a small way gains steadily until he becomes firmly established -Ka Puke ʻŌlelo Noʻeau a Pākuʻi #932. I find it crazy how relevant this specific ʻōlelo noʻeau is to my life. Just before I came out here to Hōlanikū, I attended the IUCN World Conservation Congress in Honolulu in September. The theme of one of the first events was “He Pūkoʻa Kani ʻĀina.” Preparing myself for the journey to Hōlanikū, I attended sessions related to the ocean and sea birds. It was an awesome opportunity to learn more and to see and meet people who share the same values as me. Throughout the season, I realized the significance of this ʻōlelo noʻeau in my life. In the Kumulipo, life starts from the coral polyp. I am at what others refer to as the end of the Hawaiian island chain. However, I am currently standing at the beginning of time. There is where it all began, our ʻāina kūpuna. And now for me, this is where my life begins. Throughout my experiences, Iʻve been able to learn, change, and grow. With a foundation of ʻike and experience, the building begins. Despite the rough seas I may face, I will always remain standing.
He wahi mahalo kēia no ka heluhelu, ke kākoʻo, a me ke aloha ʻana mai iaʻu. Iā ʻoukou kuʻu mahalo a me ke aloha palena ʻole! A hui hou nō kākou. Until next time, menpachis
Naʻu me ke aloha,
Aulani
Sunday, March 26, 2017
Monday, March 20, 2017
He Hana Luhi blog 23 & He Wā Hoʻomaha Blog #24
Blog #23 He Hana Luhi#23
Pule 23 (3/5/17-3/11/17)
Aloha mai e nā maka heluhelu, nā ʻohana, a me nā hoa piha i ke aloha iā Hōlanikū. He hana hou kā mākou i mālama ai i kēia mau pule ʻelua, a he hana luhi nō ia. Ua paʻa mākou i ka ʻimi a me ka mālama ʻana i nā kakā i loaʻa i ka maʻi botulism. ʻAʻole mākou i hoʻokō i ka hana maʻamau. Ua lilo kēia mea i hana koʻikoʻi. ʻOkoʻa ka luhi o kēia ʻano hana. Ua hele a maʻi pū kēia wahi wahine ma muli o ka uluhua a me ka luhi. Minamina nō ka maʻi a me ka hala ʻana o kēia poʻe kakā. Ua nui nā mea i aʻo ʻia i kēia pule. Ma muli o kēia ʻano hana, ʻike au he mea nui ka mākaukau i nā ʻano hana like ʻole ke hele mai ka wā.
Howzit gangeh. My apologies again for sending another late blog. These past two weeks have been a bit chaotic. After hearing about situations that the past seasons encountered, I only hoped that the end of this season would go by smoothly. However, history has repeated itself and we ended up dealing with a case of botulism with the Laysan ducks. I wonʻt get into details because writing it all would require having to relive the chaos that we went through. And honestly, Iʻm just too exhausted. Iʻve mostly expressed my feelings in emails to my ʻohana and friends who have been the best support team. But Iʻll try to give you a little glimpse of the craziness that weʻve been going through as this season slowly comes to an end.
I know I say that the various tasks we do are exhausting, but this specific situation takes exhaustion to another level. Whatʻs worse than finding sick or dead ducks is not being able to find them at all. Brah, thereʻs nothing more frustrating than not being able to find what youʻre looking for. For two weeks, weʻve been searching for the Laysan ducks near water sources such as the seeps and guzzlers or in the areas where we found the sick or dead ones. Our usual and main task of spraying was put on hold and this botulism case became a main priority. Every day, we went throughout the island counting ducks in the morning, afternoon, and evening. We kept a record of who we did or didnʻt see, making them suspects of being the source of the outbreak. For example, we didnʻt see “Green J” (named by her band color and letter) for a few weeks. Assuming that she was dead, we needed to find her so we could possibly figure out the problem. There were no breaks during this situation. We found sick or dead ducks one after the other, meaning a duck always occupied the camp house. The most we had in the room at one time were three ducks. Just having one in there was enough, but three? Brah, so luhi! Each sick duck was brought back to the camp house. Botulism antitoxin was administered and they were also tube-fed and hydrated. The dead ones were examined, recorded, and put in the freezer for further examination when we return to Honolulu. Part of the task of nursing a sick duck back to health is making sure the cages are exchanged and cleaned. Towels soiled in duck poop were hand washed in buckets and dried on the clothes line. Cages with duck poop all over it were cleaned, dried, and prepared for the next arrival. In addition to being very careful while handling the ducks, we also had to be courteous while in the camp house. Having ducks occupy the room meant absolute dead silence in the camp house. Words spoken were through whispers, which I barely understood. Sometimes I could only respond while a smile or a nod. Meals prepared required little sound to be made. It was as if we had to be on toes - not making a sound when walking through the camp house or just being ready and quick to move. When the room occupied more than one duck at a time, our dining table became another feeding, hydrating, and medicating station. This forced us to eat outside on the picnic table or on the side of the bunk house in the cold or in the hot sun. A meal isnʻt really enjoyed in absolute silence, especially for this crew ;P
Our time these past two weeks were fully invested into managing this botulism case. It was very exhausting and I even stressed myself to sickness. The main thing I needed was rest. I only slept in for an extra hour one morning and then I was back in action. As exhausting as it was, I found that I couldnʻt just be idle in my room. Although my body and mind needed rest, I still felt a force pushing me to continue on with this specific task. Itʻs really our passion and dedication that enables us to progress and succeed. Aloha ʻāina is life! Here on Hōlanikū, we C.A.A.R.E!
Eia ka ʻōlelo noʻeau o kēia pule: “He hana maka ʻenaʻena” (A work that causes red, hot eyes). A task that requires so much work it deprives one of sleep -Ka Puke ʻŌlelo Noʻeau a Pākuʻi #567
Mahalo a nui no ka heluhelu ʻana. Shoots den menpachis
Naʻu,
Aulani
Blog #24 He Wā Hoʻomaha
Pule 24 (3/12/17-3/18/17)
Aloha mai e nā maka heluhelu, nā ʻohana, a me nā hoa piha i ke aloha iā Hōlanikū. ʻAneʻane pau ko mākou noho ʻana i ʻaneʻi! Hoʻokahi wale nō pule i koe. Hauʻoli loa au i ka hiki ke hoʻolaha i ka loaʻa ʻole ʻana o nā kakā i maʻi a i ʻole make i kēia pule. Uihā! Ua hoʻokuʻu ʻia ke kakā hope i hoʻōla ʻia i kēia Lāpule. Nui koʻu hauʻoli i ka hiki ke hoʻomaha. ʻAʻohe hopohopo no ka manawa. I loko o koʻu makemake e nanea no ke koena o ko mākou nohona i ʻaneʻi, he pono nō ka mākaukau i nā hana hou.
Howzit kākou! Can you believe this is week 24 for us? We have only one week left! After a long, exhausting two weeks of the botulism case with the Laysan ducks, I am super happy to say that we havenʻt found any sick or dead ducks for a whole week! In addition to that, we also found one of the ducks that we havenʻt seen for weeks, crossing her out from the list of prime suspects of this botulism case. I donʻt want to speak too soon, but it feels so good to have some weight lifted off our shoulders. This week was soooo much better than the previous weeks. Although Iʻm still regaining some energy, this was a week of peace. No eating outside in the cold or the hot sun. No having to whisper or be as quiet as a mouse while in the camp house. No stressing myself to sickness. And finally, no struggling between completing our spray schedule and taking care of the ducks.
Although itʻs possible that we may have overcome this botulism case with the Laysan ducks (knock on wood), we also have a predator, an owl, thatʻs been taking out a few pākalakala (gray backed terns), leaving its victims along the runway or various treatment areas open for us to see. So far our experienced birder, RJ, hasnʻt seen it during his shorebird surveys or stake outs during the night. Hopefully weʻll be able to find it during our last nights here, but with the downpour weʻve been receiving these past couple of days.. I donʻt think Iʻd want to leave my warm bedroom. After two weeks of dedicating most of our time to taking care of the sick or dead ducks, we went back into action and “sprayed and slay-ed” some of the last treatment areas for the season. Because of the botulism situation, we fell behind on completing the spray scheduler. But it is what it is. We still do what we can. Rain or shine, we still go! Do I need to remind you that weʻre all hammahs?
As tiring as itʻs been searching for the ducks every morning, afternoon, and evening, I grow to admire them even more during each encounter and observation, just as I do with the rest of the birds here. Iʻve seen the full cycle of life and death among our many hoa manu. In this case, Iʻve also witnessed the restoration of life. I learn something new every day. Throughout my experience on Hōlanikū, I realized how precious life and time is. Like Iʻve mentioned previously, this has been my time to learn, to change, and to grow. As Iʻve experienced the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly, Iʻve still encountered love daily. Living here has reinforced my love for the land, love for all beings, and most importantly, love for my life!
Well, there it is gangeh. Itʻs been a tough few weeks as we come to the end of this Winter season. Itʻs definitely taken a toll on me both physically and mentally. Despite it all, the experience is still rewarding. Unity, perseverance, and compassion are what drives us to succeed and finish off strong. With great effort, weʻve finally come to see light in this dark situation with the botulism case. Now that weʻve had some time to rest, itʻs time we geeve ʻum! So here we go. Down to our last week. Heavy. This is the time to gain as much ʻike, complete the last of our tasks, and most of all, enjoy the time we have left here on Hōlanikū.
Eia ka ʻōlelo noʻeau o kēia pule: “He pō walea, he ao walea i ka laʻi” (A night enjoyed, a day enjoyed in the calm). Peace brings undisturbed nights and days -Ka Puke ʻŌlelo Noʻeau a Pākuʻi #917
Mahalo no ka heluhelu ʻana. A hui hou a i kēia pule aʻe. Shoots den menpachis
Naʻu,
Aulani
Friday, March 17, 2017
Needs, Cycles, and Beauty, 5th blog by RJ Roush
Needs, Cycles, and Beauty
words by RJ Roush
"Life out here is more direct." - Thomas Pynchon, Gravity's Rainbow. Though the original context of this quote is far removed from Kure Atoll, I felt a certain resonance when I encountered it a few weeks back. The simple, sparse wording struck a chord with yet another reason why the life of a wildlife biologist can seem so unconventional, so far removed, from the lifestyle of your typical american citizen.
The first reason is fairly straightforward and is one I've talked about in previous writings: when in a field camp, we learn to live without. We adjust without typical comforts, whether that be running water, internet connection, fresh produce, or even a reliable power supply on cloudy days (the solar panels are great until we don't see the sun for an entire week). If there is something we wish we had that we didn't bring with us, we'll just have to wait for it. Our lives seem to become more streamlined and in tune with our immediate surroundings. Our water comes from the sky, our entertainment comes from our islandmates, human and non-human, our bodies sync to the ebb and flow of the rising and setting sun without the interference of artificial lights. It's all pretty easy to romantacize if your into that whole "one with nature" thing. Life is minimalistic, less cluttered, direct.
Then, there is the darker side to this quote's relevance to Kure and other field work. Life out here makes it's needs very well known. We observe them in action daily, hourly. When these needs don't get met, then life transitions into the absence of life. Easy to grasp in theory, but when you're surrounded by thousands of creatures striving to exist, you quickly understand that where there is an abundance of life, there will also be an abundance of death.
For most people, death is not an everday occurence; it is something that is met a handful of times and often with great emotion. For us? We see a chick starve because it moved too far from it's nest bowl and can no longer find it's parents. We see a disease or a toxin wipe out an alarming percentage of an endangered population. We find the aftermath of an elusive bird of prey's midnight meal on the runway: a pair of tousled wings, scantly connected by clavicle and keel, heavily gnawed and picked clean. It's unavoidable. It's natural. It's just as important and necessary as life.
I am not trying to belittle any death, nor am I trying to approach it as a jaded individual. Too often, biologists are cast with the title of "cold-hearted" or "insensitive" when it comes to death. Our attitude, or at least my attitude, is better characterized as one of acceptance. It is sad when you see that one Frigatebird didn't make it because it's wing was pinned in a dead heliotrope tree. I acknowledge that. I feel for all these individuals out here, but at the same time I cannot feel bad for the loss of each individual life. It's complicated.
It's about a mental shift, really. It's about not only empathizing with those creatures that are easy to relate to, like the big mammals and seabirds, but also seeing the life needs of other, smaller, less-relatable creatures. That dead chick has been baking in the sun for a day or two: the flys have already swarmed and gone, and now the maggots begin to burst forth in the hundreds. Soon after, it rains, and the kawelu begins sprouting up through and around the old chick. That one life has given way to hundreds of other lives (millions if your counting microscopic organisms--a level of empathy for life-needs that I still have trouble wrapping my head around).
So, in death there is life. And in both there is beauty, for those who observant enough. And it is out here on Kure Atoll that we see this cycle realized without interference. It's not just the superb scenery or creatures that pulls me to places like this. It is the inescapable and awe-inspiring beauty of life and death seen directly. It is the understanding that comes with the acknowledgement of death's role. And it is the calm, knowing satisfaction that comes from witnessing these cycles everday. The satisfaction of seeing life's needs played out right in front of one's own eyes.
words by RJ Roush
"Life out here is more direct." - Thomas Pynchon, Gravity's Rainbow. Though the original context of this quote is far removed from Kure Atoll, I felt a certain resonance when I encountered it a few weeks back. The simple, sparse wording struck a chord with yet another reason why the life of a wildlife biologist can seem so unconventional, so far removed, from the lifestyle of your typical american citizen.
The first reason is fairly straightforward and is one I've talked about in previous writings: when in a field camp, we learn to live without. We adjust without typical comforts, whether that be running water, internet connection, fresh produce, or even a reliable power supply on cloudy days (the solar panels are great until we don't see the sun for an entire week). If there is something we wish we had that we didn't bring with us, we'll just have to wait for it. Our lives seem to become more streamlined and in tune with our immediate surroundings. Our water comes from the sky, our entertainment comes from our islandmates, human and non-human, our bodies sync to the ebb and flow of the rising and setting sun without the interference of artificial lights. It's all pretty easy to romantacize if your into that whole "one with nature" thing. Life is minimalistic, less cluttered, direct.
Then, there is the darker side to this quote's relevance to Kure and other field work. Life out here makes it's needs very well known. We observe them in action daily, hourly. When these needs don't get met, then life transitions into the absence of life. Easy to grasp in theory, but when you're surrounded by thousands of creatures striving to exist, you quickly understand that where there is an abundance of life, there will also be an abundance of death.
For most people, death is not an everday occurence; it is something that is met a handful of times and often with great emotion. For us? We see a chick starve because it moved too far from it's nest bowl and can no longer find it's parents. We see a disease or a toxin wipe out an alarming percentage of an endangered population. We find the aftermath of an elusive bird of prey's midnight meal on the runway: a pair of tousled wings, scantly connected by clavicle and keel, heavily gnawed and picked clean. It's unavoidable. It's natural. It's just as important and necessary as life.
I am not trying to belittle any death, nor am I trying to approach it as a jaded individual. Too often, biologists are cast with the title of "cold-hearted" or "insensitive" when it comes to death. Our attitude, or at least my attitude, is better characterized as one of acceptance. It is sad when you see that one Frigatebird didn't make it because it's wing was pinned in a dead heliotrope tree. I acknowledge that. I feel for all these individuals out here, but at the same time I cannot feel bad for the loss of each individual life. It's complicated.
It's about a mental shift, really. It's about not only empathizing with those creatures that are easy to relate to, like the big mammals and seabirds, but also seeing the life needs of other, smaller, less-relatable creatures. That dead chick has been baking in the sun for a day or two: the flys have already swarmed and gone, and now the maggots begin to burst forth in the hundreds. Soon after, it rains, and the kawelu begins sprouting up through and around the old chick. That one life has given way to hundreds of other lives (millions if your counting microscopic organisms--a level of empathy for life-needs that I still have trouble wrapping my head around).
So, in death there is life. And in both there is beauty, for those who observant enough. And it is out here on Kure Atoll that we see this cycle realized without interference. It's not just the superb scenery or creatures that pulls me to places like this. It is the inescapable and awe-inspiring beauty of life and death seen directly. It is the understanding that comes with the acknowledgement of death's role. And it is the calm, knowing satisfaction that comes from witnessing these cycles everday. The satisfaction of seeing life's needs played out right in front of one's own eyes.
Aloha mai,
Here's my blog for the previous week.
Mahalo,
Aulani
Blog #21 Ka ʻElele Leo ʻOle
Pule 21 (2/19/17-2/25/17)
Aloha mai e nā maka heluhelu, nā ʻohana, a me nā hoa i nui ke aloha iā Hōlanikū. Ke kokoke nei ka pau ʻana o kēia huakaʻi. ʻEhā wale nō pule i koe! ʻO ka hapa nui o kaʻu mau puke hoʻomanaʻo, ua kālele ʻia ma luna o ka hana. No nā pule i koe, e kākau ana au e pili ana i ka nohona i Hōlanikū. ʻO ke kumuhana o kēia pule, ʻo ia ka loaʻa ʻana mai o nā lekauila mai nā hoa a me ka ʻohana. ʻO ka lekauila wale nō ka mea e launa ai mākou me ka poʻe i waho o Hōlanikū. No laila, he mea nui ia iā mākou. ʻO ka lekauila kekahi mea e lana ai ko mākou naʻau. I ka hapa nui o ka nohona i ʻaneʻi, ʻaʻole loaʻa iā mākou nā lekauila, a kali nō mākou i mau pule. Hiki ke kaumaha. Hiki ke huikau. Manaʻo mākou iā mākou iho, “Noʻu ka hewa?” Eia naʻe, ke loaʻa mai ka lekauila, piha mākou i ka hauʻoli. I ke kali ʻana, ua ʻike au i mau mea e pili ana i koʻu ola ponoʻī. I kēia noho kaʻawale ʻana, ua hoʻoikaika ʻia nā pilina me nā hoa a me koʻu ʻohana. Ua nui aʻe koʻu aloha a me ka mahalo i koʻu mau mea aloha. Nui ke aʻo i ʻaneʻi.
Howzit gangeh. Can you believe we have only 4 weeks left?! It feels like not too long ago, I had first set foot on Hōlanikuʻs bright, sandy shore after spending a week on the Kahana. For these last few weeks, Iʻve decided to focus on writing more about the camp life here. This week is about the way we communicate with people outside our little world in Hōlanikū. If you donʻt already know, weʻre on a super remote island. Cell phones are of no use here. Thereʻs no internet. We donʻt even get snail mail. Weʻre totally off the grid. Fortunately, we do have a satellite phone which can receive emails. However, there are rules that we must abide to. All emails go into one shared account. So, the subject title must have our name somewhere or else that email is pretty much up for grabs. Also, we canʻt send or receive pictures or attachments and the emails canʻt be long either. With limitations, itʻs important that these rules are followed ʻcause thereʻs nothing more disappointing then finding out you got an email, but itʻs too big that itʻs inaccessible. What a tease!
Going further into detail.. We do send and receiveʻs every morning and evening. These emails are the only reason why I even wake up early to eat breakfast. Every morning at breakfast and every evening after dinner, we all wait anxiously in the camp house to find out whether or not we got any emails. Eryn or Andy take note of how many emails weʻre sending, how much weʻre receiving, and how long the whole operation takes. Meanwhile, head lamps are on, books are open, and hearts are racing with excitement. The waiting game can drag along for a while. First, Eryn or Andy will tell us the number of emails weʻre receiving. Once a number is announced, hopes are high and everyone puts in their guess on whoʻs going to receive an email. Time goes by..still waiting. Sometimes the system shuts down and they have to start over again. The anticipation gets stronger. A moment later, they announce the winners and kindly allow them to claim their prize. I donʻt know how to explain the level of stokeness when I receive an email. I have a small group of people that Iʻve kept in contact throughout the season. For one, I like being off the grid, just focusing on life here. Second, rather than repeating myself over and over again, I have one designated person (which is my mom) to share everything with everyone else back home.
There are times when we, as a team, didnʻt receive any personal emails for a week or more. Individually, weʻve waited for two weeks up to a couple months to receive an email from a certain person or anyone at all. For some, weʻve only heard from people maybe once or twice throughout the season. Iʻm going to be real with you. The waiting game SUCKS! Waiting, especially while being isolated, does have an effect on us. First of all, weʻre sad to not hear from anyone. Canʻt help but wonder, “Do they even care?” Then it leads to questioning ourselves, “Did I say or do something wrong?” Or we get worried that something might have happened.
Some of us have had our streaks where weʻd get multiple emails for a few days. After a week, that streak would end and then it goes back to “silence,” allowing someone else to be on a roll. In the end, we actually lose hope and come to accept that we just wonʻt be receiving anything. I understand that our selection of people are busy, but brah, they donʻt really know how much this way of communication affects us. Just like my inbox, I, too, feel empty. Out of all people, we chose to contact these specific ones because of the certain roles they play in our lives. If they donʻt already know how important they are to us, well do they do now.
To be honest, I hadnʻt really planned on contacting anyone while I was out here. I told friends and ʻohana that theyʻd probably hear from me once or twice a month. I really just wanted to be off the grid and cut ties with everything and everyone that connected me to a crazy world that I left behind. However, throughout the season, Iʻve come to realize many things, spending a huge amount of time reflecting on my life. In isolation, I thought about people and the specific roles they each played in my life. After a while, I realized that I couldnʻt maintain this distance much longer. I wanted to be reconnected. From emailing just my mom and a dear friend, my contact list slowly grew over a course of a few months. Although Iʻve only contacted a small amount of people, those are the ones that I knew I had to send some aloha - because of their importance to me. Iʻm grateful to receive anything from them - mele to jam to, words of encouragement, stories of adventures, updates on family, etc. Iʻm happy to not only keep updated with their lives, but to share my experience with them as well.
Throughout this experience, I learned that Iʻve been taking things for granted. I hadnʻt realized the importance of communicating with others, especially my loved ones. Ways of communication has changed over the years - from letters to phones, from talking to texting. Iʻm guilty of preferring to text rather than speak on the phone. But now, emailing is a different thing than what Iʻm used to. Emails and letters are silent messengers. With this silent messenger, I became to miss the sound of the voices of my loved ones. I actually listened to old voicemails and watched videos just to hear their voices. When I read their emails, I try to picture them speaking those very words. As I continue to learn through my experience, my love and appreciation continues to grow for my loved ones. Brah, this trip has been heavyyyyy. But Iʻll tell you now, I will no longer take the ability to communicate with others for granted. Haʻo nui ʻia ʻoukou pākahi!
Mahalo a nui no ka heluhelu ʻana. Eia nā ʻōlelo noʻeau o kēia pule:
“Ka ʻelele leo ʻole o ke aloha” (The voiceless messenger of love). A letter bearing words of love and cheer -Ka Puke ʻŌlelo Noʻeau a Pākuʻi #1284
“Kū a keʻokeʻo; ʻaʻohe i hōʻea mai” (Have stood until bleached white; no one came). Said of a long, hopeless wait -Ka Puke ʻŌlelo Noʻeau a Pākuʻi #1857
Naʻu,
Aulani
Here's my blog for the previous week.
Mahalo,
Aulani
Blog #21 Ka ʻElele Leo ʻOle
Pule 21 (2/19/17-2/25/17)
Aloha mai e nā maka heluhelu, nā ʻohana, a me nā hoa i nui ke aloha iā Hōlanikū. Ke kokoke nei ka pau ʻana o kēia huakaʻi. ʻEhā wale nō pule i koe! ʻO ka hapa nui o kaʻu mau puke hoʻomanaʻo, ua kālele ʻia ma luna o ka hana. No nā pule i koe, e kākau ana au e pili ana i ka nohona i Hōlanikū. ʻO ke kumuhana o kēia pule, ʻo ia ka loaʻa ʻana mai o nā lekauila mai nā hoa a me ka ʻohana. ʻO ka lekauila wale nō ka mea e launa ai mākou me ka poʻe i waho o Hōlanikū. No laila, he mea nui ia iā mākou. ʻO ka lekauila kekahi mea e lana ai ko mākou naʻau. I ka hapa nui o ka nohona i ʻaneʻi, ʻaʻole loaʻa iā mākou nā lekauila, a kali nō mākou i mau pule. Hiki ke kaumaha. Hiki ke huikau. Manaʻo mākou iā mākou iho, “Noʻu ka hewa?” Eia naʻe, ke loaʻa mai ka lekauila, piha mākou i ka hauʻoli. I ke kali ʻana, ua ʻike au i mau mea e pili ana i koʻu ola ponoʻī. I kēia noho kaʻawale ʻana, ua hoʻoikaika ʻia nā pilina me nā hoa a me koʻu ʻohana. Ua nui aʻe koʻu aloha a me ka mahalo i koʻu mau mea aloha. Nui ke aʻo i ʻaneʻi.
Howzit gangeh. Can you believe we have only 4 weeks left?! It feels like not too long ago, I had first set foot on Hōlanikuʻs bright, sandy shore after spending a week on the Kahana. For these last few weeks, Iʻve decided to focus on writing more about the camp life here. This week is about the way we communicate with people outside our little world in Hōlanikū. If you donʻt already know, weʻre on a super remote island. Cell phones are of no use here. Thereʻs no internet. We donʻt even get snail mail. Weʻre totally off the grid. Fortunately, we do have a satellite phone which can receive emails. However, there are rules that we must abide to. All emails go into one shared account. So, the subject title must have our name somewhere or else that email is pretty much up for grabs. Also, we canʻt send or receive pictures or attachments and the emails canʻt be long either. With limitations, itʻs important that these rules are followed ʻcause thereʻs nothing more disappointing then finding out you got an email, but itʻs too big that itʻs inaccessible. What a tease!
Going further into detail.. We do send and receiveʻs every morning and evening. These emails are the only reason why I even wake up early to eat breakfast. Every morning at breakfast and every evening after dinner, we all wait anxiously in the camp house to find out whether or not we got any emails. Eryn or Andy take note of how many emails weʻre sending, how much weʻre receiving, and how long the whole operation takes. Meanwhile, head lamps are on, books are open, and hearts are racing with excitement. The waiting game can drag along for a while. First, Eryn or Andy will tell us the number of emails weʻre receiving. Once a number is announced, hopes are high and everyone puts in their guess on whoʻs going to receive an email. Time goes by..still waiting. Sometimes the system shuts down and they have to start over again. The anticipation gets stronger. A moment later, they announce the winners and kindly allow them to claim their prize. I donʻt know how to explain the level of stokeness when I receive an email. I have a small group of people that Iʻve kept in contact throughout the season. For one, I like being off the grid, just focusing on life here. Second, rather than repeating myself over and over again, I have one designated person (which is my mom) to share everything with everyone else back home.
There are times when we, as a team, didnʻt receive any personal emails for a week or more. Individually, weʻve waited for two weeks up to a couple months to receive an email from a certain person or anyone at all. For some, weʻve only heard from people maybe once or twice throughout the season. Iʻm going to be real with you. The waiting game SUCKS! Waiting, especially while being isolated, does have an effect on us. First of all, weʻre sad to not hear from anyone. Canʻt help but wonder, “Do they even care?” Then it leads to questioning ourselves, “Did I say or do something wrong?” Or we get worried that something might have happened.
Some of us have had our streaks where weʻd get multiple emails for a few days. After a week, that streak would end and then it goes back to “silence,” allowing someone else to be on a roll. In the end, we actually lose hope and come to accept that we just wonʻt be receiving anything. I understand that our selection of people are busy, but brah, they donʻt really know how much this way of communication affects us. Just like my inbox, I, too, feel empty. Out of all people, we chose to contact these specific ones because of the certain roles they play in our lives. If they donʻt already know how important they are to us, well do they do now.
To be honest, I hadnʻt really planned on contacting anyone while I was out here. I told friends and ʻohana that theyʻd probably hear from me once or twice a month. I really just wanted to be off the grid and cut ties with everything and everyone that connected me to a crazy world that I left behind. However, throughout the season, Iʻve come to realize many things, spending a huge amount of time reflecting on my life. In isolation, I thought about people and the specific roles they each played in my life. After a while, I realized that I couldnʻt maintain this distance much longer. I wanted to be reconnected. From emailing just my mom and a dear friend, my contact list slowly grew over a course of a few months. Although Iʻve only contacted a small amount of people, those are the ones that I knew I had to send some aloha - because of their importance to me. Iʻm grateful to receive anything from them - mele to jam to, words of encouragement, stories of adventures, updates on family, etc. Iʻm happy to not only keep updated with their lives, but to share my experience with them as well.
Throughout this experience, I learned that Iʻve been taking things for granted. I hadnʻt realized the importance of communicating with others, especially my loved ones. Ways of communication has changed over the years - from letters to phones, from talking to texting. Iʻm guilty of preferring to text rather than speak on the phone. But now, emailing is a different thing than what Iʻm used to. Emails and letters are silent messengers. With this silent messenger, I became to miss the sound of the voices of my loved ones. I actually listened to old voicemails and watched videos just to hear their voices. When I read their emails, I try to picture them speaking those very words. As I continue to learn through my experience, my love and appreciation continues to grow for my loved ones. Brah, this trip has been heavyyyyy. But Iʻll tell you now, I will no longer take the ability to communicate with others for granted. Haʻo nui ʻia ʻoukou pākahi!
Mahalo a nui no ka heluhelu ʻana. Eia nā ʻōlelo noʻeau o kēia pule:
“Ka ʻelele leo ʻole o ke aloha” (The voiceless messenger of love). A letter bearing words of love and cheer -Ka Puke ʻŌlelo Noʻeau a Pākuʻi #1284
“Kū a keʻokeʻo; ʻaʻohe i hōʻea mai” (Have stood until bleached white; no one came). Said of a long, hopeless wait -Ka Puke ʻŌlelo Noʻeau a Pākuʻi #1857
Naʻu,
Aulani
Wednesday, March 1, 2017
Ka ʻElele Leo ʻOle Blog #21
Blog #21 Ka ʻElele Leo ʻOle
Pule 21 (2/19/17-2/25/17)
Aloha mai e nā maka heluhelu, nā ʻohana, a me nā hoa i nui ke aloha iā Hōlanikū. Ke kokoke nei ka pau ʻana o kēia huakaʻi. ʻEhā wale nō pule i koe! ʻO ka hapa nui o kaʻu mau puke hoʻomanaʻo, ua kālele ʻia ma luna o ka hana. No nā pule i koe, e kākau ana au e pili ana i ka nohona i Hōlanikū. ʻO ke kumuhana o kēia pule, ʻo ia ka loaʻa ʻana mai o nā lekauila mai nā hoa a me ka ʻohana. ʻO ka lekauila wale nō ka mea e launa ai mākou me ka poʻe i waho o Hōlanikū. No laila, he mea nui ia iā mākou. ʻO ka lekauila kekahi mea e lana ai ko mākou naʻau. I ka hapa nui o ka nohona i ʻaneʻi, ʻaʻole loaʻa iā mākou nā lekauila, a kali nō mākou i mau pule. Hiki ke kaumaha. Hiki ke huikau. Manaʻo mākou iā mākou iho, “Noʻu ka hewa?” Eia naʻe, ke loaʻa mai ka lekauila, piha mākou i ka hauʻoli. I ke kali ʻana, ua ʻike au i mau mea e pili ana i koʻu ola ponoʻī. I kēia noho kaʻawale ʻana, ua hoʻoikaika ʻia nā pilina me nā hoa a me koʻu ʻohana. Ua nui aʻe koʻu aloha a me ka mahalo i koʻu mau mea aloha. Nui ke aʻo i ʻaneʻi.
Howzit gangeh. Can you believe we have only 4 weeks left?! It feels like not too long ago, I had first set foot on Hōlanikuʻs bright, sandy shore after spending a week on the Kahana. For these last few weeks, Iʻve decided to focus on writing more about the camp life here. This week is about the way we communicate with people outside our little world in Hōlanikū. If you donʻt already know, weʻre on a super remote island. Cell phones are of no use here. Thereʻs no internet. We donʻt even get snail mail. Weʻre totally off the grid. Fortunately, we do have a satellite phone which can receive emails. However, there are rules that we must abide to. All emails go into one shared account. So, the subject title must have our name somewhere or else that email is pretty much up for grabs. Also, we canʻt send or receive pictures or attachments and the emails canʻt be long either. With limitations, itʻs important that these rules are followed ʻcause thereʻs nothing more disappointing then finding out you got an email, but itʻs too big that itʻs inaccessible. What a tease!
Going further into detail.. We do send and receiveʻs every morning and evening. These emails are the only reason why I even wake up early to eat breakfast. Every morning at breakfast and every evening after dinner, we all wait anxiously in the camp house to find out whether or not we got any emails. Eryn or Andy take note of how many emails weʻre sending, how much weʻre receiving, and how long the whole operation takes. Meanwhile, head lamps are on, books are open, and hearts are racing with excitement. The waiting game can drag along for a while. First, Eryn or Andy will tell us the number of emails weʻre receiving. Once a number is announced, hopes are high and everyone puts in their guess on whoʻs going to receive an email. Time goes by..still waiting. Sometimes the system shuts down and they have to start over again. The anticipation gets stronger. A moment later, they announce the winners and kindly allow them to claim their prize. I donʻt know how to explain the level of stokeness when I receive an email. I have a small group of people that Iʻve kept in contact throughout the season. For one, I like being off the grid, just focusing on life here. Second, rather than repeating myself over and over again, I have one designated person (which is my mom) to share everything with everyone else back home.
There are times when we, as a team, didnʻt receive any personal emails for a week or more. Individually, weʻve waited for two weeks up to a couple months to receive an email from a certain person or anyone at all. For some, weʻve only heard from people maybe once or twice throughout the season. Iʻm going to be real with you. The waiting game SUCKS! Waiting, especially while being isolated, does have an effect on us. First of all, weʻre sad to not hear from anyone. Canʻt help but wonder, “Do they even care?” Then it leads to questioning ourselves, “Did I say or do something wrong?” Or we get worried that something might have happened.
Some of us have had our streaks where weʻd get multiple emails for a few days. After a week, that streak would end and then it goes back to “silence,” allowing someone else to be on a roll. In the end, we actually lose hope and come to accept that we just wonʻt be receiving anything. I understand that our selection of people are busy, but brah, they donʻt really know how much this way of communication affects us. Just like my inbox, I, too, feel empty. Out of all people, we chose to contact these specific ones because of the certain roles they play in our lives. If they donʻt already know how important they are to us, well do they do now.
To be honest, I hadnʻt really planned on contacting anyone while I was out here. I told friends and ʻohana that theyʻd probably hear from me once or twice a month. I really just wanted to be off the grid and cut ties with everything and everyone that connected me to a crazy world that I left behind. However, throughout the season, Iʻve come to realize many things, spending a huge amount of time reflecting on my life. In isolation, I thought about people and the specific roles they each played in my life. After a while, I realized that I couldnʻt maintain this distance much longer. I wanted to be reconnected. From emailing just my mom and a dear friend, my contact list slowly grew over a course of a few months. Although Iʻve only contacted a small amount of people, those are the ones that I knew I had to send some aloha - because of their importance to me. Iʻm grateful to receive anything from them - mele to jam to, words of encouragement, stories of adventures, updates on family, etc. Iʻm happy to not only keep updated with their lives, but to share my experience with them as well.
Throughout this experience, I learned that Iʻve been taking things for granted. I hadnʻt realized the importance of communicating with others, especially my loved ones. Ways of communication has changed over the years - from letters to phones, from talking to texting. Iʻm guilty of preferring to text rather than speak on the phone. But now, emailing is a different thing than what Iʻm used to. Emails and letters are silent messengers. With this silent messenger, I became to miss the sound of the voices of my loved ones. I actually listened to old voicemails and watched videos just to hear their voices. When I read their emails, I try to picture them speaking those very words. As I continue to learn through my experience, my love and appreciation continues to grow for my loved ones. Brah, this trip has been heavyyyyy. But Iʻll tell you now, I will no longer take the ability to communicate with others for granted. Haʻo nui ʻia ʻoukou pākahi!
Mahalo a nui no ka heluhelu ʻana. Eia nā ʻōlelo noʻeau o kēia pule:
“Ka ʻelele leo ʻole o ke aloha” (The voiceless messenger of love). A letter bearing words of love and cheer -Ka Puke ʻŌlelo Noʻeau a Pākuʻi #1284
“Kū a keʻokeʻo; ʻaʻohe i hōʻea mai” (Have stood until bleached white; no one came). Said of a long, hopeless wait -Ka Puke ʻŌlelo Noʻeau a Pākuʻi #1857
Naʻu,
Aulani
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