Paradise: ours for the making
Wednesday, August 7, 2013 at 08:00AM 
Seems funny to be writing about This is Paradise by Kristiana Kahakauwila, a book of short stories about modern Hawaii, on the day that we're getting on a plane (or three, really) and heading East, to France.
But since every story in this brilliant collection is about home and identity, it couldn't be more fitting.
This trip we're leaving on today to Arrens-Marsous where my father's family is from, when my parents have been since July 4th in the house where my father was born, has all the same echoes and whispers of What is home really? Who am I? that live at the heart of each of Kahakauwila's stories.
It does always feel like a Going Home, arriving at the ancestral threshold, the first steps in the door, the mountain air. Everything about it is so familiar, so many layers of memory throughout my life.
And at the same time, no matter how much time we spent as kids steeped in the culture, so different.
Whenever I'm there, I am reminded of what a delicate thing is culture, how changeable. Sure, I speak the language and can get along, but that doesn't mean there won't come a point in this trip when some random stranger yells at me about something, stunned by my ignorance of the specifics of how to bag the produce at the market or how to swipe my credit card at check-out.
You sound like you are one of us. What's the matter with you?
Truly it's always paradise to me to be there in that gorgeous place, walking in the footsteps of my grandparents, visiting them at the cemetery in the valley where they lived and died. It'll be paradise to hear the lilt of that accent, to witness it creep into the ends of my words, softening them, rounding them. I'll sleep under the ceilings that sheltered my ancestors, use their dishes, wish for apparitions that don't come, friendly ghosts to sit on the foot of my bed and tell me of the old days.
I'm looking forward to long days in the country, the simple pleasures. I hope to spend some part of every morning with a cup of coffee in my hand at a table pushed up against a window from which I can see the peaks that surround us, writing and thinking. Then later, walking with my parents, exploring, listening to their stories.
It'll be Paradise.
But Paradise is tricky. Paradise is not without pain. There will be stress (my mouth racing to catch up my mind, as I transition into back into more full-time French, not to mention three weeks cohabitating with family). There will be some discomfort. And that old familiar dislocation as I confront that always-question of my upbringing and identity, no matter where I am, San Francisco or Arrens: this is mine, but I don't belong here.
And that's where Kristiana Kahakauwila and her stories fit into all this for me,why they seem such a fitting send-off to this voyage. Maybe it's in the nature of being raised bi-cultural, really -- this sense of belonging in two places but fitting in completely in neither. It's a boon, it's paradise, but not without a price.
I happily pay it, from long experience patiently waiting for my mouth to catch up, explaining to strangers how things work differently where I'm from, far away in California, reminding myself always that not everyone has what I have, this mixed inheritance, this double and amazing life. And even so, how Paradise is always all around, ours for the making.
Make it!
XX
This post was inspired by This Is Paradise by Kristiana Kahakauwila, a collection of short stories that shares a view of Hawaiians few tourists ever experience. Join From Left to Write on August 8 as we discuss This Is Paradise. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.
Reader Comments (3)
Your post makes me think about how my children might view their biculturalism as adults. Thank you for your insight!
Aloha e Ariane,
I had to laugh out loud when you wrote about the "ignorance of the specifics of how to bag the produce at the market," which I completely remember experiencing when I was in France in my early 20's. I'm in Hawai`i right now, seeing family and old friends, and I agree that it's those small moments-- bagging groceries or choosing fish for dinner-- that are giving me the most dissonance from myself in a place where I am supposed to be so familiar with myself. The big stuff-- talking to my aunties, spending days with my friends-- are what bring me back into myself.
Have a wonderful time in France!
What an interesting perspective! Despite our location (physical or otherwise), paradise is indeed ours for the taking. Thank you!