Ova Da Rainbow: HAWAII'S STORY (3)

Blowin' in the Wind

"So... yeah. That's all there is to it." Hawaiʻi said, as she kept her legs crossed and sat back, keeping her gaze down on American Samoa's hair, which she ran through with her fingers a bit nervous fully.

"So we had another brother?" Guam said, her voice in a quiet tone that matched her sombre face. She had decided to tag along this time, bringing another personification from her island, Chamorro.

That was a sort of interesting meeting, as the Polynesians up until that point had been only that. Polynesians. But it felt nice to welcome someone else into this family, even if they weren't very close relatives at all.

Speaking of her, she was sitting with Guam, and was listening to the whole tale in detail as well.

"According to your father, yes." Hawaiʻi said. "And... he was the Republic of Hawaiʻi."

"Was he... Uncle Lika's kid too?" Sikaiana said, her face paling at the implications of this.

"No, no. It's fine," Hawaiʻi said, "I interrogated him the other day, he swears that the kid was one hundred percent only mine, and not his."

Sikaiana made a loud sigh of relief, and wiped her forehead. "Jesus, that scared me for a second."

Suddenly, American Samoa seemingly came out of nowhere. He plopped face up in Hawaiʻi's lap, and sighed

"Western Samoa's being Western Samoa again." American Samoa complained, annoyed beyond belief at his sister's antics. "Someone ought to stop her before she weaves a mat big enough to cover the island with."

"Mom, I think that one's on you." Sikaiana said, before getting up to stretch. "Aunty told us we were gonna learn something cool today, and I wanna see what Guam's been bragging about for so long."

"Have fun. I guess I was roped into sibling drama, again." Hawaiʻi deadpanned, and she watched as Guam and Sikaiana followed Chamorro out across the field, clearly very excited to learn, and she smiled a little, before turning her attention back to the task at hand.

Well, she was weaving a rather large mat. And with Tonga to help her. It wasn't a mat to sit down on, more something you would put around your waist for special ceremonies. This was a well known fact by all the Polynesians.

It was also well known Western Samoa weaved when she was angry. While Tonga had the patience and the need to make each and every single line perfect, Western Samoa did it as a sort of way to combat stress and anger.

And as such, most of these mats were never to be worn or given away. They piled up in her home, a count of the years' worth of frustration.

"So, what's the deal this time, small angry one?" Hawaiʻi asked, sitting with one leg propped up and the other dangling over the log. "Sammy tells me you're going to tear your..."

"Kie Haʻamoa." Tonga said, trying to be helpful.

"ʻIe tōga." Western Samoa corrected quickly. "And my brother can go and adopt another mother for all I care. Hell, why not, it's not like our mother matters at all. Maybe he'll call himself American-Hawaiian Samoa soon. I don't care."

Tonga sighed. "Moa iiki, nonga hifo, te ke taʻaki ʻa e matiu." (Little Chicken, calm down, you'll rip the mat.)

"Maybe he'll even go on and tell me later he's not even Polynesian," Western Samoa continued her rant, irritation seemingly boiling off her features, "And eventually he never was, and he wants nothing to do with my family, as if it's not very much his own. All fine by me! Leave Western Samoa out to dry, why don't you, leave her to sit and look like an ass while waiting for an answer she knows is going to be a no, but she comes anyway and talks to you anyways because, hey, why not."