Racing to You ✓

03 | ohana

When people think of a theatre family, they may think of iconic plays being referenced in conversation, random bursts into musical songs, and an artsy fartsy house filled with quirky ideas and humour. Some people labelled my family as 'hippies', even though I swore we were just living out our Hawaiian culture.

But most days, like today, featured my parents on the couch, responding to work emails, occasionally paying attention to the TV in the background. Were they playing Hairspray again?

I cleared my throat to alert them of my presence.

"Our favourite keiki is home!" Makua announced.

"I'm your only child," I muttered back.

"How was school?" Māmā asked, just like she had asked every single day after school for the past ten years at least.

I squashed my rising irritation. Puberty took a hard hit on all of us -- I suddenly felt suffocated by my parents' affection, and they were confused to why I snapped at them out of the blue one day in Grade 8. I sighed. "Not bad."

"Have the audition scripts for the school musical been released yet?" Māmā pressed on.

"It was the first day back," I pointed out. "They'll probably only announce the theme at the end of the week, earliest."

Makua interrupted quickly. "Was Sasha there? How's she doing? You know, with her family stuff and all."

Sasha Li was another one of my school friends -- we were neighbours, and both of our moms performed together in local musicals. But her mom had filed for divorce last year and left for L.A, leaving her and her brother behind with their dad. They were still reeling, so my parents made it a point to support Sasha in any way they could, although they were probably the last people she wanted to talk to right now.

I shrugged. "I didn't really see her today, but I'll call her tonight."

Makua nodded, glad that I took the bait in the change of subject. "Yep. Okay, enough chit-chat, go practice your new guitar chords!"

"You're due to post a new song on YouTube," Māmā added. "Send it to us before though, so we can check you're not off-tune or anything."

"You could even vlog the behind-the-scenes," Makua agreed. "Your fans love those vids."

I closed my eyes briefly, as if that could shut my responsibilities out. "Alright."

I climbed the stairs two at a time, and reached my beach themed room. My ohana -- family -- had come together to decorate it when we moved in -- it had starfish and fish shaped lights, white and ocean blue pillows, and curtains patterned with coconut trees. 

My parents really wanted me to be connected with my culture, even though my immediate family had been in Canada since the 1850s thanks to the Hudson's Bay Company bringing over Hawaiian workers to Vancouver. My family eventually made their way to Toronto, which suited my parents being so close to Broadway in New York City. Once my grandparents retired, they moved back to Hawaii to re-connect with our extended family members, who welcomed them back. 

Retiring in Hawaii was also a dream of mine, though that plan was quite recent. As a person of colour who grew up in a dominantly white neighbourhood -- I had discredited my culture when I was younger and wished I looked like the other kids, with light hair and eyes. I stopped listening to my parents' favourite Hawaiian singers, stopped using Hawaiian Pidgin with my extended cousins, and rolled my eyes at the typical hula performances. 

The arrival of a headstrong, identity-confident Malaysian-Chinese girl moving in next door during Grade 9 did help me in starting to appreciate my culture again. Sasha was unapologetic for saying durian was one of her favourite fruits, as pungent as it was to the other kids, and she constantly raved about her country's food, even bringing some nasi lemak and chicken rice to Multicultural Days in school. She shrugged when people made fun of her slight accent, and reverse-uno-ed them by flaunting she could speak five languages fluently, while learning a sixth one.