University of Pugent Sound:
Because we at Puget Sound values independent and creative thought, feel free to write on any topic of your choice.
"Describe you hometown and how you are a product of this environment."
Geographically, Hawaii is more than 2,300 miles away from the closest continent, stranded in the Pacific Ocean. Literally, Hawaii is an island made up of volcanic rock. Sentimentally, Hawaii is my home.
My family lives up on a mountain, by Hawaii standards. It’s a type of house that doesn’t need air-conditioning because we’re high enough to catch the cool trade wind. Our backyard has enough space for two active children to run around in, separated by a gate, which prevents us from going into a green-belt area that gradually slopes into the valley. The front yard displays my grandparents’ gifted green thumbs through a color scheme ranging from royal purple orchids to vibrant yellow hibiscus. Our street traffic is light, a positive side to not being on the main road.
Looking out from our light-blue house, I realize living in an older neighborhood- where senior citizens outnumber children and adults has influenced me deeply. My dad grew up in this house, the one I’ve always called home. The older couples have seen my dad grow up- and now his children as well. He’d share stories, “Oh man, and I remember this one time me and Gary...” My brother and I would love to hear these stories, as it brought a memory back from my dad’s childhood and he made them exciting to hear.
Across the street in a salmon-pink house is Aunty Loretta and Uncle Joe, a Hawaiian family. Even from when we were little kids, they encouraged us to play in their big front yard. We played sword fight, threw football, and popped small firecrackers. Aunty Loretta is a loud person, but it’s in a way that is asking about our day, laughing at a funny story, or congratulating us for any accomplishments. Every time I talk to Uncle Joe he tells me stories of “way back when.” The physical warmth that they show me makes me happy to spend my time talking to them, and helping them out.
Towards the right is a two-story cream-colored Filipino household. Their family has doubled the original house in size. Yet, like in many other Filipino homes, there are seven members living there. We don’t really talk to the family all that much. Yet, when there was a storm, -- we could count on each other. When we see the parents, we exchange short greetings and share personal updates as time allows. Traditionally at Christmas and New Years we exchange personally made treats of gau (a Chinese good luck dessert) with lumpia (meat wrapped and fried in a thin cornstarch paper). Our sharing food is special because its also sharing our cultures. The sense of community by close proximity give the feeling of security, knowing that there is someone that will always be there.
To our direct right, a white-stained-by-red-dirt shade is Aunty Karen. Ever since her husband passed away, she’s been working early morning to late nights at the florist. When we were younger we had many conversations through the wooden fence that divides our properties. I haven’t seen her for a while, but her dog, Sachi, enjoys our visits and sharing dog food and treats after we come home from school. Even though we don’t see Aunty Karen often, she knows we’re there, helping through our actions.
Two houses down to the left is the Browns, the only white people we know that live anywhere near us. They’ve lived there as long as I’ve known, but my parents only got to know them because my brother and I got along well with their grandson. We’ve grown closer to each other; even bringing back little treats from trips. Amazing, what relationships kids can bring together by friendships.
Mrs. Ikenaga, an old Japanese lady lived to our left- until her husband passed away. A few months later she sold the house to go live at an old folks home. Being only 7 years old, I hadn’t known what was happening, all I understood was that neither my brother or I would be called over there for sugar cookies over a card game of goldfish anymore. Mrs. Ikenaga was the first neighbor to openly welcome us inside of the house, no matter what time of the day it was. It was the time she spent just getting to know us, and playing cards that made those moments special.
Instead of Mrs. Ikenaga, a mixed marriage couple of Japanese & German moved in. They were way younger than the rest of the neighbors. In no time, we introduced ourselves, learning that they were Keith and Shelly. They both looked too young to be ‘Aunty Shelly’ or ‘Mr. Roberts.’ Yet, it still felt weird to be on the ‘first-name basis’ with them. “It does not matter what you call them necessarily,” my mom would answer to me, “just so long as the name you call them is with respect.”
These new neighbors were welcomed and blended in. Now, they have two young kids, new energy- ones that I can help look after and share what I’ve learned from my neighbors. Having the different cultures all in one neighborhood is amazing! No one is the same, but that the best part about it, each family has taught me values, whether it is taking time to talk story, sharing food, kind actions, being available to spend time, and showing why respect is so important.
