Taste of Semper Fi

The Marine Corp recruitment office in Kaneohe was in the open-air strip mall (the one with Foodland and First Hawaiian Bank), right off the freeway going North. It had enough room for a standard cookie-cutter wooden-desk, a few chairs, a back nook and one-to-two recruiters to look inviting through that large display window. Kaneohe was usually overcast, humid and sunny all at the same time – the rain you got used to – that’s just how Hawaii is, especially the “windward” or the East sides of all the islands. My cousin made me go on her Marine Corp summer assignments for a few weeks before she got relocated – I was bribed by Genki sushi, Starbucks and escape from my new “home”, a grey-slate-tiled two story in Enchanted Lakes of Kailua, Oahu – that seemed a thousand degrees hotter (and louder with neighbors so close) than my breezy Maui home surrounded by cow pastures and eucalyptus trees. A few prospects a day would come in, mostly age 17-25 with some excitement at the attention we gave. Whatever professional interest one had, there was a path in military (so we told) and the free training/school, free room/board and travel is what usually brought them in. My script was minimal - I was there for show.

She was five years older than me, had done all the dangerous piercings no one dared – the tongue, the eyebrow, the entire ear lobes and I wanna say the lips at one point before her sign over… the nipples with the bars threw them were the most intense, for sure. She drove a beat-up, brown Ford pick-up stick-shift with Kiss and Metallica blasting the whole way to church. Her boots were the tie up kind. She had that half-shaven-head style with the bangs flipped to one side in the front. She was wild in ways no one believed were related to me. I thought her to be both fierce and childlike at the same time. It’s been an interesting relationship over the years but one I’ll get to later – she and I have some unspoken loyalty and were and are still extremely different to this day. I’ll call her Kris for now – Kris – a Scorpio, gifted in theater, drawing women portraits to the tee, poetry, psycho-analysis, containing secrets, puzzles, hunting, dog-whispering, soap making, good with her hands, jewelry, metal work, building, mechanics and now – a very dedicated, loving mother and wife. In my youth, she was both intimidating and unafraid. I saw her as hard. Different. Deep. Conflicting. Rebellious and attractive in an intensity that stirred all static. She broke molds. I was both fascinated and felt dominated by this female who’d one day dream prophecies of my life (that came true), take me skinny dipping everywhere, and be a support in times of need despite her irritation with my opposite ways. White, native American girl that would one day support Hawaiian activism and native rights – she’s a story on her own.

“You are on the jerk-off wall of the barracks next door to me, Sarah” Kris half-laughed through the phone. “My little-teen-cousin is in the bikini calendar taped to the mirror in the guys’ bathroom – what the fuck!” Her calls throughout the years were sporadic but always memorable. She’d end up sneaking me into her barracks a few years later to spend a few nights in her bunk. Her technical work on helicopter’s was far beyond me but those feelings of constraints, structure, adherents, the time pressure and black and white that take priority over feminine instincts, I cannot forget.

Bellows is one of the best (gorgeous white sand, crisp tourquiuse water) public beaches of Hawaii yet is treated as private for those coasties, airmen, and devil-dogs - meaning public access is not just given to just surf that famous break or walk that coast -you need a military ID to get on the best parts (a Native Hawaiian debate to go on for ages - another blog, another time). Summer of O4 made it clear I was not to consider the military though. While Noa was hoping I’d ask my other cousin, Kris’s younger brother, about him – I was at the Bellow’s beach in Waimanalo running laps with the new, young, eager recruits, doing my cuz a favor and looking cute to keep some incentive – took one for the team. My calves would be burning after just one stretch of beach runs - fine, heaps of sand makes your feet sink in a good 7-8 inches each step making a stair master seem easy. Those fucking jumping jacks and “Drop and give me 20” push-ups though. I just can’t do it the same as the guys. Am I a second late? Shit. Did everyone have to do it again because of me? Ooops! ...Sorry?

Me, 5’5 and 110 pound ballerina-raised body was not cutting it. Mostly though - it was my lack of enthusiasm for that life. Attempt to hold that rifle, aim, and hit the target at the practice hill? Hell no! At least I didn’t have to deal with the ego yet – that comes later – when the guys get the uniform and the rankings begin. Then the male domination mind begins, the liquor and notches on the belt. I swore I’d never ever date or be with a Marine after all I saw my cousin handle (bless her) not to mention the fact I come from military officers … and then shit, I ended up marrying one (and still trying to divorce) – like that default button. This kind of mindset stays with you. It’s indeed what they say - “Once a Marine, Always a Marine” and that trickles into everything, the marriage, the language, the work life and roles that come with that pre-positioned hierarchy - it’s hard to ever leave it once conditioned. And here i’m admitting its in my blood - distant but in the cell memory. I’ve struggled to find balance in it - in the domination/control structure that destroys so many families inner peace.

…all those privates and sargents i’d end up with way too many free drinks from… And the Kailua beaches filled with high-and-tight hair cuts, pumped up and clean shaven beer drinkers smoking killer BBQ were the normal weekends in Kailua, Oahu. Steady paychecks, a pension, USAA insurance, free living on base, that super cheap-on-base shopping, a man who can use a gun, save a drowning swimmer, bench press to kill, who still open doors for a lady, clean house, are organized, can keep public talk simple and those sexy manners are some of those perks many women go running after the uniformed for. So, don’t get me wrong – I have a lot of respect for the service (and they are fun). They work like fucking bulls – hours on end – determined minds that can bite the bullet with sweat and tears secondary to the goal of success, muscle like no other, beatings beyond the ring. I’ve heard men’s voice shake as the describe the explosion that threw them out of their belt into a metal ceiling, bloody faced, ribs broken, hearing gone for days, dead friend’s bodies to carry… Bravery, Resilience, Discipline is something our society lacks and this is a necessary old school teaching that military still holds. If we don’t have strong walls of protection, there will be a conqueror that comes and takes over (history says it over and over). I know we all want to believe everyone is kind in nature and that with regulation, people will be fair… but I hope my sharing gives some light on how human nature is always going to be ruled by emotion – which is not always talked about and not always predictable… and to embrace the unpredictable or that pain we hide is maybe the only way we can get through the insanity of being human. That to ignore the dark will not save us – that only in facing the dark, can the light and lovely be saved and human feelings can continue without complete death to the ironic experience of living.

*Please note that this read is meant to be entertaining, not necessarily factual

Noa

Wintergreen mostly, with a little chalky sulfur. That’s what he tasted like. Kools. That blue short pack. Never the regular tobacco taste. Maybe that’s why I could handle it as the non-smoker. His teeth were still an off-white - still pretty in that brimming big smile regardless of the few packs a week. Almost a foot above me. I’ll never forget how thick the width between of his shoulders were, even 18 years later. The linebacker body spoke for itself, could not miss the guy in a crowd. The Polynesian, Caucasian and Latina mix grew a mane thick with chocolate brown waves pulled into a low bun. Definitely not what anyone expected for me.

Pretty, sweet, simply-dressed, innocent good-girl is what they described me as all through my youth and riding in that lifted Toyota boy-toy with the local alpha was not what my parents thought I’d take a risk for when they sent me to Kailua in 2004. I actually had no interest whatsoever in dating nor friendships those first few months. I didn’t care who anyone was. I missed home. I missed my younger siblings, sophistication. I missed art shows and fine dining, the Haiku 2-acre-yard, the horses next door, and people who read Homer and Socrates and appreciated it. I missed the boyfriend back home whom I never got to hug goodbye- I still kept the promise ring on my finger, snuck phone calls when I could. I didn’t recognize this half Samoan, tattooed, confident guy from my cousin’s graduation where the whole school stood up and screamed for him walking towards his diploma. I didn’t remember him stripping off his gown on stage to reveal a malo to the crowd, either - he had to jump my memory me months later after his ego was a little shot that I was so unimpressed by his local childhood fame.

“I can’t believe how honest you are,” he told me in the first conversation we had on the road a few blocks from Kalaheo High. “Most people never just say it point blank, especially a good-looking female,” he charmed, Tupac playing from the car-stereo CD-player. I was so cold to his efforts. “Sorry if it offends you,” I said still keeping my distance from his open-door offer for a ride home. “I never heard of you nor have seen you before and no, I’m probably not going to party tonight.”

Students driving old stick shifts, low-rider pick ups and two-door asian-made second-hand vehicles screeched past us showing off, whistling at me, hooting him on - the classic young boy hollar. My 18-year-old cousin was “late” to get me and the only guy “allowed” to take his 16-year-old cousin home was his former classmate, then helping me into the passenger seat, Noa.

I realize its risky saying it all like this. But some relationships are so honest and real that there’s nothing to hide or be ashamed about. This was one of those. Two and half years beginning the roller coster of my life, he stayed, my friend, my confidante and the stable in what my therapist would deem a very unusually challenging life. Young yes, but some souls are born old, and old souls just know each other somehow.

He was persistent. Patient. Made a deal with my aunt to do her dishes, take the trash out, help clean and drive me to school if it meant he got to stay late into the night at my cousins house, my legally appointed guardianship home. He sang oldies while he challenged my cousin to sparring matches, won poker pretty regularly, fixed the cars after body surfing Mocks, read the magazines left around, whistled when he cleaned.

I think it was a whole three weeks of him sleeping on the couch before I even let him have a chance alone with me. This is pre-smart phones mind you - when the entertainment was limited and house phones were the normal way to schedule a visit. There was no way for him to have contacted me otherwise, not with the extreme strict rules of no-male connections allowed for me, whatsoever. Yet, somehow he charmed his way through the cracks of the family plan for my nearly-arranged marriage. After seeing him consistently paying dues days-on-end without ever making a immature comment or glance to peep-Tom at me, I finally broke and planted myself in pajamas, cross legged, onto the living floor after everyone was asleep. “Ok, so you obviously want to know me,” my face didn’t flinch.

He smiled in relief, sat up from his sprawled out, half asleep position on the couch and said, “Yes, ma’am. Are you ready? I’ll wait.”

*Please note that this read is meant to be entertaining, not necessarily factual

Bringing in Haea

We really can't fight nature. As a woman you know that from the day your menstrual cycles begin ... But sometimes we become caught up in the "schedule" of other people's ideals of life and find ourselves surprised or disappointed when it doesn't happen as we planned... That is especially the case I hear from others when the first child comes into their world - shakes up their worlds; proves the true winner is not the ego, but the steadfast heart. Some still hold onto their belief of self-super-heroism through those first couple years in denial that they must change their "habits" or "how they are" for this tiny, mostly unconscious, lesser being. But eventually something gives or else, the results years later yield no healthy fruit ... By the third child, you are ready. Ready for the chaos, the mess, the no schedule, the change of plans, the vulnerability, the lack of Independance, the giving without seeing any obvious return for months and months ... And this time, I'm at peace.  

Peace. Not a place I thought I'd be at. Preparing for the worse always makes the skies look clearer... They say the "energy" felt at birth is what shapes that personality, that relationship you have with them, that their looks and health stem from that seed planted on that day, at that time, with their backstory fertilizing them into the reality we become.  

The energy of this birth was freeing. This birth was healing. This birth was not something you could predict at all and yet it was the birth I felt the most security... It was about me trusting myself completely and feeling completely sure of myself when there was no one else to the rescue. And that's Haea. To breathe soverign life...

I had had been feeling contractions (that burning sensation deep in your tailbone and those deep squeezing in your groin and low hips - the uterus ) for over two weeks. No consistent increase to a steady pattern that could ensure a delivery was happening. And even though I was dialating and effaced over halfway since the end of March, I was still told be ready to race to the hospital at any time - every week that I had a check up, awaiting what I felt would come fast and strong. 

My sister was able to get a few days off of work to come help with the basics of house chores and physically lifting my preschoolers , lifting the boxes from recently moving (as lifting anything a little heavy can cause damages like back injuries, hemmroids, etc..), and help with driving (since the contractions would interfere with my ability to focus or maintain steadiness at the wheel). What was "surely my water breaking" ended up not being so, and so, the excitement of sis possibly seeing her first birth or meeting a day-old- baby came and went. When dialating, cervix thinning out more, and contractions still continued a week-and-a-half-later, my mom rushed to rearrange schedules and request immediate time off work in hopes of helping us with Elia and Kanai during my anticipated birth... But of course, only the day after she leaves did the contractions start increasing. A full day and a half after we have no more help coming from immediate family (as both sides live in outer island) is when baby decides to come. 

A friend had stopped over to visit that evening and casually joked bout what we would do if it happens in the middle of the night when we have no help, no daycare, and no midwife awaiting to rush over. Makani bluntly replies, "We are dropping the kids off at your house. " 😂 So, that was the plan - but of course you always need plan b and plan c - and if you've ever had labor pains, once they hit over 6cm dialated then you know you can't be dealing with a 4 and 2 yr old crying frantic and fighting you in their tired-tantrum when you uproot them mid-slumber to rush them into a house they've never slept at before...  so, a bit before midnight I felt it - like slowly increasing drums - that build up, that deepening pound on the ground, that crescendo for an hour. You can't sleep knowing it's coming, the drums pounding in your gut... I tried the sitter - (who was supposed to be busy in the early morning) and surprise she was awake, available, and willing to stay at our home throughout the next day. I had a feeling it was happening much faster than last time (was 10 hours with no medications for Kana'i, my second, and 16 hours for Elia - induced and with an epidural). So, I texted with her in her broken-English and sent texts to her daughter to translate into Portugese for her - directions to our new home that she had not yet been to 😅, where everything had been barely unpacked (from the recent move), what to do in the morning with the kids whom she had not ever Made breakfast for before, how to navigate our security system and codes around our home and how to access our wifi and that damn long access code. 😂 It was a test of faith for sure (Hand language helps 😉 ). And all while contractions are at a steady-every-five-minuets (I know you moms are cringing)... 

So, we got the hospital bags and water for me and a sweater for Makani as that hospital is cold and with no comforts for the dads. We stopped at 711 on Waialae to grab some snacks (spam musubis, of course)  - I mean hey, I am gonna work my ass off without any good food given to me once we check in so let's learn from the first two times and set ourselves up with some fuel before we go through hell 😀...

We checked in at 1 am. She was out by 5am. That's 4 hours of intensive labor. Nurse was surprised I was so calm and having contractions 3 min apart when we got there...  And even though I asked for no drugs, she kept offering pitocin to speed up the contracting - no. No. No again and we sure as hell didn't need to speed it up as it was already quickening (Pitocin causes more pain by the way if you Do take pitocin - I had it my first labor)... So I was sent walking in the halls since I wanted all natural - she thought it'd be a couple hours before I'd get the dialation speeding up (usually takes hours to get to 5/6cm and more to get to 7/8 when the "transition" really starts doubling in speed and pain). So I walked in that open-backed-gown, squatting through those cramping and heat burns - around and around for an hour and a half. Would keep going back to the check-in-room where I left Makani there to rest up before the home run (needed him to have energy to support me) to keep using the bathroom as you continuously do while you are in labor ... No one else was walking the hall (as everyone was getting epidural and the extreme numbing keeps you laying down in the bed to be safe ) but I wasn't lonely - I was actually able to relax more without anyone else around (unlike the other two labors that happened on full-moons when the hospital becomes extremely busy from "moon-chaos"). Sprayed myself with a mix of essential oils I made anytime I felt dizzy or naseuas - it's actually he only labor i didn't throw up in, thanks to orange, peppermint, and lavendar. 

A poor guy was standing outside of one of the delivery rooms as I walked by - he looked ghostly, tired like he hadn't slept in days, the skin sagging down his eyes and cheeks from the anxiety and insomnia - breathing deep in probally hours of shock ... He saw me smiling and looked like he saw pigs flying ... "First baby?" I asked. He nodded. Still in awe at me squatting the 48lb roundness - "It's baby number 3 for me. Don't worry - first one is really scary, it's long and it's shocking but it's normal. You are doing great." He nodded. Nurse told me later a husband of "another birthing mom" was shocked at the girl smiling down the laboring hall but that " she said its normal so it's gonna be ok. She's on baby number 3 so it must get better." Hehe... 😆❤️

My doctor or never made it to the birth (till the placenta was coming out 15 min later)... When I got back to the room and got "checked" (they stick their hand in to see how far your cervix opened) I was over 6cm. That means time for the birthing room. They also have to put in a mandatory IV in case your birth goes crazy and you need emergency Meds or something... Girl busted five of my veins and had blood spurting everywhere before she finally called an IV specialist (who put it in with one try no prob 🙄) - bruise lasted for two weeks. By the time we got through the IV horror and escorted into the big birthing-rooms - I'm at 7cm. You can't stay still at that point - not without Meds.

It was obvious this set of nurses I had (unlike last time) weren't used to all natural 😂😂 - the looks on their faces as I'm stripping off my robe and pacing frantically, breathing deep whoooooshy breathes, bending in all different positions to maintain through what feels like a steamroller juicing your insides every 5 seconds... They wanted to put a baby monitor strap on my belly that would keep me leashed and stationary to a pole (with monitor device). I asked them for the mobile one that has no attachments (I had it last time I birthed all natural) so I can move around since I'm not drugged and bearing the punches - took them 20 min to find one and by the time they figured out how to work it, I was squatting, butt-naked telling makani "I'm sh**ing out a baby right now!" They asks me to wait a few minuets for my doctor to arrive... Wtf - you can't hold in a 7-9 lbs bowling ball agaisnt Gravity, the god-damn squeezing machine (the uterus - god) with an open hole! 

...and that's what was kinda magical - that feeling like no one there really knew how to handle my animal self or my own knowing of my body, actually made me trust myself more, not less and ... Trust my spouse who totally showed his support amount all the chaos.

Makani trusted US. We both trusted US more than anyone else there. It was the first time He nor I were looking for guidance from anyone else during the vulnerable experience of birth... When the nurse busted my veins, Makani asked for a new nurse to take over the IV process. When a nurse took my blood pressure while I was mid-contraction and said I had high blood pressure, he told another nurse to check me when I wasn't mid-contraction. When a nurse kept offering me pitocin, I stuck to my wants and firmly said no and he followed... I went from 7 to 10 cm in 20 minuets - and the speed of that pressure on your body made me dizzy. When I yelled out for oil spray - he rushed over to spray me with, "Which one babe? Lavendar? This one? The mixed one?" Totally involved... He cleaned up the "mess" when the nurses weren't fast enough ... It was his voice that encouraged me through that 6 minuet push. That push felt like 7 hands ripping me apart from all sides of my crotch and he was right there holding me up, hands in, telling me how strong I was, getting bloody, getting excited to see the baby crowning ... While I thought for sure my tissues were severing in all angles...

I'll never forget that. Feeling it was meant to be. Feeling like there really wasn't anyone else there, but us. Our baby. Our birth. Trusting me. Him Trusting my lead. Trusting I was loved. Trusting this baby was doing what it's supposed to. Trusting God... 

Trusting Life itself.

and then...

its over.

the pain is over.

A wet bundle wiggles towards your breast and your body is still shaking, gasping breaths like you've been underwater nearly drowning, heart beating out of your chest... 

And I just remember Makani's voice, a hushed cry, "She's beautiful." 

It's all a dreamy blurr for those few hours afterwards - a high, laughter, a wave ...  

...Makani whispering to her in his arms still hasn't left me... And I still fell him holding my hand in the end ... 

The other births were not "bad" nor did they ever leave me feeling ashamed or weak or alone ... But there's a different experience for every child, every "person" and their energy that they bring in that day ... And this one was so much more pleasant than I imagined ... Sometimes the things that are most out of our control are the most beautiful of all ...