Last night I joined Marysol and her Seattle friends at Hawaiian Brian’s. Before heading in, we went to the rooftop, a chance for one of us to smoke a cigarette and the others to enjoy the night breeze and view of the convention center and Ala Moana environs. I am humbled by the fact that Marysol’s connection to where we are runs deep, that buildings and sights that hold only a superficial meaning to me, for her are the grounds of childhood, adolescence, and college before she departed for a few years to the Pacific northwest. Such was the moment on the rooftop, a story of a friend and melancholy recollection. This used to be her playground, but last night we shared the reality of the present moment.
It was a reggae show, Mike Love who is a local celebrity but whom despite many opportunities I have not yet seen perform in the 5 years in Hawaii. I needed to hear the message of leaving bondage behind, a theme so prominent in the genre. The past week was a mixture of triumphs of connection and setbacks of the bondage of instant gratification. But I am learning to coast, as the Officer is teaching me. I am learning to be in my body as opposed to wanting to be miles ahead. With clear head I was standing at the edge of the dance floor, and when Mike sang about stepping out of the shadow and into the light, and being here now, I knew I had already began.
Beautiful and wise woman from Seattle, Marysol’s friend of crab memories at the foot of the mountains, was swaying rhythmically to the music. At one moment she grabbed my hand and whispered along with the lyrics, see your true heart. I have heard the call to waking up many times before, but at that moment it felt different. Marysol has been speaking of my heart the past few weeks, and I do believe it is good. I need to lift the veil of insecurity, the veil of doubt and hesitation for good and see my true heart always. I want to step into the light showing my commitment to education and transformation, to the possibility that our lives are in constant motion of creation that can be for good. Life is the art of showing up so we can cultivate others, and our love.
We left after an hour of the light blanket of the dancefloor. Tired but uplifted. On the uber home, I was once again reminded how recent of a transplant I am. Marysol and the driver exchanged memories of education in Hawaii, going back to elementary, and the travels to the birthplace of their parents, the Philippines. They spoke of dialects and translation, and the meaning of being Filipino-American. On the elevator ride up to the apartment, I remarked that it was nothing like the uber conversations I generally witness or participate in. Whether part of it is the shared cultural heritage or Hawaiian birthplace, Marysol’s sentiment of speaking to someone as if you have known them a long time is a wonderful way of cutting through the small talk and connecting to the real person in front of you.