It is a pretty common experience to move from place to place. What is perhaps less common is moving to four different states within the span of 10 years. I want to share my experiences of how I came from growing up in Hawaii to moving to Arizona then Utah and then finally landing in the Bay Area.
Why all this moving? Education!
I learned when I was younger that education was important and that motivated me to continue pursuing it. Each step of my educational journey was associated with a move to a different island or state. Each time was an adjustment to the geographic and cultural traits of that location. Each move had challenges but brought me closer to my goal of a doctorate and I eventually got it!
However, the more interesting process was the lessons learned on the way. I transformed from someone who was closeted and sheltered to someone who uses the experience of meeting diverse groups of people for the betterment of all.
It’s a been fun journey. Come alongside and join me!
Image: Drawing of St. Malo settlement in St. Bernard Parish, the first permanent Filipino settlement in the United States. March 31, 1883. Drawing by Charles Graham based off sketches by J. O. Davidson. Source: Wikimedia commons
As a high school senior, I remember a classmate asking our American history teacher, Mr. Marshall, “Will we be learning anything about Asians in the United States?” Perplexed, Mr. Marshall took a long curious pause before responding, “I don’t think such a history exists. Asians don’t have much of a history in the United States.” My seventeen year-old self did not know better and believed Mr. Marshall. He was, after all, the history teacher. Surely, he was correct.
One year later, I found myself sitting in an Introduction to Asian American History course at UC Santa Barbara. I was a first year college student and Mr. Marshall’s words echoed in my head: “Asians don’t have much of a history in the United States.” This course changed the trajectory of my life because for the first time, I felt a sense of identity and belonging in a country that made me feel so out of place. Luckily, a lot has changed since the mid 1990s. There is more awareness of Asian Americans, Native Hawaiians, and Pacific Islanders and our robust and nuanced history in the United States.
Every October, communities across the United States celebrate Filipino American History Month (FAHM). Introduced in 1992 by Filipino American National Historical Society (FANHS) founders Dr. Dorothy Laigo Cordova and the late Dr. Fred Cordova, FAHM was created to recognize the contributions, history, and legacy of Filipinos in America. It highlights the unique journey of Filipino Americans, one of the largest and oldest Asian communities in the U.S. In 2009, the U.S. Congress officially recognized FAHM and in 2015, President Obama celebrated the first FAHM at the White House.
Photo by Joanne Rondilla: Fred & Dorothy Cordova, 2103.
The October celebration commemorates the arrival of the first Filipinos in what was then Indigenous land. On October 18, 1587, Filipino sailors, known as Luzones Indios, arrived in what is now Morro Bay, California, on Spanish galleons. At this time, the Philippines was under Spanish colonial rule. The arrival of the Luzones Indios predates the Pilgrims by over thirty years, illustrating over 400 years of Filipino presence and contributions in the United States.
FAHM provides an important opportunity to reflect, collect, and share the untold stories of Filipinos in America. It acknowledges the resilience of early immigrants, the courage of labor leaders, and the formation of families and communities, while honoring the sacrifices of Filipino veterans. It is also a time to celebrate the vibrancy and diversity of Filipino culture – from our rich food traditions to our political, artistic, and intellectual contributions. For me, it is a reminder that Filipino Americans and Asian Americans at large do have a history in this country.
For younger generations, this month serves as a reminder of our ancestors and the importance of maintaining connections with our respective communities. It is a call to educate ourselves and others about the vital role Filipino Americans have played in shaping the United States, while making critical connections to other communities and their histories.
FAHM encourages deep reflection of the past and a critical examination of our present and future. It is a time to advocate for continued recognition, equity, and inclusion, while celebrating the rich tapestry of Filipino stories that continue to influence American culture today. In celebrating FAHM, we honor a legacy that is over four centuries old. It is a history of struggle, survival, and triumph—one that continues to inspire future generations.
Watch the video below of Joanne Rondilla, Ph.D. talking about the significance of Filipino American History Month, and also learn about someone she admires in Filipino American history.
During my teenage years, as part of the high school class of 2020, I learned some important phrases growing up:
“I’m here for you”
“I care about you”
“I would really miss you if you were gone.”
There were other sentences too, and not all of them were the most appropriate to say in the moment when someone I knew really was in crisis. And of course, nothing I could say ever felt like it could be enough.
A Generation in Crisis
I grew up in the city of Milpitas in the San Francisco Bay Area, California, at a high school that was nearly 70% AANHPI, but it wasn’t until weeks ago that I discovered a stark reality about my generation and my ethnic background. According to the CDC the leading cause of death for Asian and Pacific Islanders between the ages of 18-24 is suicide, something not true of any other demographic.
I am a biracial person, Asian and White American. However, I feel the need to dispel the likely image that may form when hearing statistics like this. There may be an assumption that this statistic from the CDC is mainly influenced by Asian Americans as the CDC does not survey Asian Americans, Native Hawaiians, and Pacific Islanders separately. However, other research focusing specifically on Native Hawaiian and Pacific Islanders shows that the problem carries similar, if not higher, severity. Suicide is still the leading cause of death even when surveying only Native-Hawaiian and Pacific Islanders.
Learning about the high suicide rate among youth and young Asian and Pacific Islander (API) adults brought back memories from high school, which was the last time I was in a majority Asian American community. I am thankful to have had a relatively stable life, and never experienced suicidal thoughts. However, I have witnessed and provided support for close friends, classmates, and even people I barely knew.
In writing this blog post, I reached out to some of my friends from the Asian American community I knew to understand their experiences. I learned that while mental health challenges vary, not everyone has encountered suicidal ideation. A minority of those I talked to experience those thoughts, but everyone I spoke to had been in the position of supporting and witnessing a friend during a time of suicidal ideation.
Healing Our Communities
During my time working here at the ʻOhana Center of Excellence, I encountered a recurring theme. There’s a very necessary and pressing demand for more research into AANHPI mental health and suicide prevention, yet insufficient action is taken. The bigger gap than just knowing the prevalence, is knowing solutions. It’s important to note that AANHPI youth, while having the tools to be supportive during crisis, are usually not the ones who have the power to make structural changes and provide professional help. Help is needed from industry professionals, school and university administrations, and most of all, people no longer in their youth who have the wisdom and resources to make a positive difference in youth communities. For efforts to destigmatize, and make culturally relevant practices the norm to succeed, there has to be a long-term concentrated effort.
When researching AANHPI Youth mental health, some of the most important takeaways I’ve found were the need to increase access and more importantly participation in mental health services, especially those available to students through high school or college programs. In AANHPI Communities, there remains a stigma against mental health and a legitimate fear especially amongst youth about confidentiality. Many of my friends considering School Based Mental Health Services (SBMHS) remained concerned that the content of therapy sessions would be automatically shared with their parents. To combat this fear, SBMHSs need to clarify the rules of confidentiality.
Bridging the gap in mental health service use must include an emphasis on culturally relevant practices. This means hiring more AANHPI mental health providers and teaching culturally relevant practices to both AANHPI mental health providers and non- AANHPI mental health providers. One friend I still talk to told me that he once tried therapy but stopped after two sessions after realizing his therapist couldn’t seem to understand the complexities of Asian-American households. He was repeatedly told the best course he could take was to cut off contact with his family, despite his insistence that he needed to find a solution that didn’t involve cutting contact.
The lack of cultural understanding also means that AANHPI youth are much more likely to open-up to other peers their age before parents, professionals, or adults at their institutions. Many youth are put into a position they’re unprepared for. Without knowing professional, sensitive, and effective solutions, it’s difficult to know how to help a friend in the moment, and even harder to connect them with professional mental health services, especially when concerns about the effectiveness and safety of those services are voiced. But with little other choice we do rely upon each other, though we aren’t the best option. Teaching each other how to help our community in the time of crisis, and how to connect AANHPI youth to resources necessary to help youth bystanders navigate ongoing mental health crises that they may be unexpectedly thrust into.
Additionally, it is important for Asian-American youth to have role models within their community who openly and use mental health services. During high school and college, the people I looked up to were often fellow students who led clubs and organizations. Research backs up the fact that AANHPI Youth in a moment of crisis are most likely to contact their peers, not family or professionals. Being able to be there for my friends is easy, but knowing the right words to say to get them the help they deserve is hard, and requires training and conversations.
If I were to find myself in a situation with one of my friends in a time of crisis again, I wish that I could tell them I could connect them with someone who can understand them, understand what they’re going through, and provide culturally competent solutions. But those are sparse and hard to find. I hope that someday AANHPI Youth, and youth younger than me will be able to connect our friends with the help they need.
Suicide and Mental Health Resources are Available
If you or someone you know is in crisis, the 988 Lifeline is available 24/7. Call, text, or chat 988. Visit 988lifeline.org for more information.
The AANHPI ‘Ohana Center of Excellence has collected more resources available that may be of help.
As a resource center, the AANHPI ‘Ohana Center of Excellence provides access to resources and information on this website. Inclusion in an AANHPI CoE resource database does not imply endorsement of, or agreement with, the contents by AANHPI CoE.
In addition, we recognize that this resource collection may not be exhaustive, and users are advised not to rely solely on it. The AANHPI ‘Ohana Center of Excellence does not claim to be the authority on any resources we provide, and we highly recommend consulting with elders, community leaders, or helping professionals who are knowledgeable about AANHPI cultures and experiences to ensure alignment with specific ethnic or cultural needs when seeking resources.
As I reflect on my experience at the 13th Festival of Pacific Arts and Culture (FestPAC), I am filled with a sense of awe, gratitude, and pride. This spectacular celebration of Pacific Island cultures’ arts and crafts was more than just a festival – it was a journey of connection, inspiration, and growth that reminded me of the power and beauty of our collective heritage. Growing up in Tonga, the last remaining monarchy in the Pacific Islands, I often took for granted the rich traditions and customs that have been passed down through generations. But as I connected with fellow Pasifika at FestPAC, I came to a great realization that our experiences, though diverse, are woven together by a shared thread – resilience.
We Pasifika are not just survivors; we are thrivers. We have navigated the challenges of colonization, migration, and cultural erosion, yet our identities remain strong. As I engaged with incredible individuals from across Oceania, I was inspired by their stories, resilience, and passion for preserving their cultures. I realized that Tonga’s unique history as the only Pacific Island nation never to have been formally colonized can sometimes lead us to believe that we are isolated from the impacts of colonialism. However, this could not be further from the truth. As Pacific Islanders, we are inextricably linked across our vast ocean, and the effects of colonialism have undoubtedly rippled throughout our communities. The struggles and triumphs of our Pacific neighbors are our own, and we must recognize and honor this shared history.
The panel discussions were a highlight, as we delved into topics that resonated deeply with me – regenerating Oceania, defining a healthier Pacific, and empowering women in leadership. I was struck by the wisdom, knowledge, and dedication of the speakers and panelists, and was reminded that we are stronger together and that our cultures are not just a collection of customs but a way of life that is deeply rooted in our connection to the land, our ancestors, and each other. The performances were breathtaking, showcasing the rich cultural heritage of our Pacific nations. The Pacific Arts and Crafts villages were equally impressive, displaying the creativity and unmatched skills of our people. I was amazed by the beauty and diversity of our cultures, and the incredible talent that lies within our communities.
At the end of FestPAC, I felt a sense of pride and hope for the future of our Pacific Island communities. I knew I was part of a larger movement dedicated to preserving our cultures, protecting our environment, and empowering our communities. It is my wish that as we celebrate our cultural heritage and identities, may we also acknowledge the complex and often painful history that has shaped our Pasifika region. I hope that my experience at FestPac will inspire and motivate others to embrace their Pacific Island heritage, to connect with their communities, and to become leaders and advocates for positive change. Let us celebrate our diversity, let us honor our cultures, and let us work together to build a brighter future for ourselves and for generations to come.
ʻI heʻeku fakakaukau atu ki heʻeku aʻusia ʻi he kātoanga hono 13 ʻo e ʻAati mo e Anga Fakafonua ʻo e Pasifikí (FestPAC), ʻoku fonu mo’oni hoku loto he ongoʻi mālū, houngaʻia, mo e pōlepole. Ko ha kātoanga faka’ofo’ofa ki hono pātoloaki e ngaahi ngāue fakamea’a mo e ngaahi anga fakafonua ‘o e ‘Otu Motu Pasifikí. Na’e mahulu hake ia ‘i ha kātoanga pē – ko ha katoanga ‘o e fehokotaki, ue’i fakalaumālie, mo e tupulaki ‘a ia na’á ne fakamanatu mai ‘a e mālohi mo e faka’ofo’ofa ‘o ‘etau tukufakaholo fakatahatahá. ʻI heʻeku tupu hake ʻi Tongá, ko e puleʻanga fakatuʻi fakamuimui taha ia ʻoku kei toe ʻi he ʻOtu Motu Pasifikí, naʻá ku faʻa toʻo maʻamaʻa ʻa e ngaahi tala tukufakaholo mo e ngaahi tōʻonga fakakoloa kuo tuku’au mai ʻi he ngaahi toʻutangata lahi. Ka ‘i he’eku kau atu ‘o feohi mo e kaungā Pasifika ‘i he FestPAC, na’a ku lava ke fakatokanga’i ko ‘etau ngaahi a’usia, neongo ‘oku kehekehe, ‘oku lalanga fakataha ia ‘e ha afo ‘oku makehe – ko hotau loto vilitaki.
Ko kitautolu Pasifika, kuo tau folau ʻi ha ngaahi pole ʻo e fakakoloniá, hikifonuá, mo e hōloa ʻo e anga fakafonuá, ka ʻoku kei mālohi pē hotau ngaahi ʻulungāngá. ʻI heʻeku fetuʻutaki mo ha niʻihi fakafoʻituitui mei he tafaʻaki ʻe taha ʻo ʻOseniá, naʻe ueʻi au ʻe heʻenau ngaahi talanoá, loto-toʻá, mo ʻenau vilitaki ke tauhi ʻenau ngaahi anga fakafonuá. Na’a ku ‘ilo’i ko e hisitōlia makehe ‘o Tonga ko e pule’anga pē ‘e taha ‘i he ‘Otu Motu Pasifiki na’e te’eki ke fakakolonia fakafo’ituitui, ‘e lava ke ne ‘ai kitautolu ‘i he taimi ‘e ni’ihi ke tau tui ‘oku tau mavahe mei he ngaahi uesia ‘o e fakakolonia. Kae kehe, ‘oku ‘ikai lava ke toe mama‘o ange ‘eni mei he mo‘oní. ‘I he‘etau hoko ko e kakai ‘o e ‘Otu Motu Pasifikí, ‘oku tau fehokotaki ta‘emavahevahe ‘i he tafa‘aki ‘e taha ‘o hotau ‘oseni lahí, pea ‘oku ‘ikai veiveiua ‘a e mafola atu ‘a e ngaahi ola ‘o e pule fakakoloniá ‘i hotau ngaahi komiunitií kotoa. Ko e ngaahi a’usia mo e ikuna ‘a hotau ngaahi kaunga’api ‘o e Pasifiki, ko kitautolu kotoa ia, pea kuo pau ke tau ‘ilo’i mo faka’apa’apa’i ‘a e hisitolia ‘oku tau fevahevahe’aki ko ‘eni.
‘I he ngaahi fealea’aki faka-penolo ne fakahoko, na’a ku mahu’inga’ia hono fakatotolo’i ‘a e ngaahi kaveinga na’e ongo loloto kiate au – ko hono fakafo’ou ‘o ‘Oseni, fa’ūtaha ha Pasifiki mo’ui lelei ange, pea fakaivia e kakai fefine ‘i he tu’unga fakataki. Na’a ku ‘ohovale ‘i he poto, ‘ilo, mo e māteaki ‘a e kau Pasifika, pea na’e fakamanatu mai ‘oku tau malohi ange fakataha pea ko ‘etau ngaahi anga fakafonua ‘oku ‘ikai ko ha tanaki’anga pe ‘o e ngaahi anga fakafonua ka ko e founga mo’ui ‘oku aka loloto ‘i he’etau fehokotaki mo e fonua, ʻetau ngaahi kuí, mo e taha kotoa pe he ‘Otu Motu Pasifiki. Na’e fakaofo ‘a e ngaahi faka’ali’ali, ‘o fakahaa’i ai ‘a e tukufakaholo fakafonua koloa’ia ‘o hotau ngaahi pule’anga ‘o e Pasifiki. Na’e fakaofo tatau pe ‘a e ngaahi koloa ‘Aati mo e Ngaahi Faiva mo e faka’ali’ali kotoa pe, ‘o fakahaa’i ai ‘a e taukei ta’ehanotatau ‘a hotau kakai. Naʻá ku ofo ʻi he fakaʻofoʻofa mo e kehekehe ʻo ʻetau ngaahi anga fakafonuá, pea mo e talēniti taʻealafakaʻatuʻi ʻoku ʻi loto ʻi hotau ngaahi komiunitií.
‘I he ‘osi ‘a e FestPAC, na’a ku ongo’i ai ‘a e polepole mo e ‘amanaki ki he kaha’u ‘o hotau ngaahi komiuniti ‘i he ‘Otu Pasifiki. Naʻá ku ʻiloʻi ko ha konga au ʻo ha ngaʻunu lahi ange ʻoku fakataumuʻa ki hono tauhi ʻetau ngaahi anga fakafonuá, maluʻi hotau ʻātakaí, mo fakaivia hotau ngaahi koló. Ko ʻeku fakaʻamu ʻi heʻetau kātoangaʻi hotau tukufakaholo fakafonuá mo hotau ʻulungāngá, ke tau toe fakatokangaʻi foki ʻa e hisitōlia fihi mo faʻa fakamamahi ʻa ia kuó ne faʻu hotau vahefonua Pasifika. ‘Oku ou ‘amanaki ‘e ue’i mo fakalotolahi’i ‘e he’eku a’usia ‘i he FestPAC ha ni’ihi kehe ke nau tali honau tukufakaholo ‘i he ‘Otu Motu Pasifiki, fakafehokotaki mo honau ngaahi komiuniti, pea ke nau hoko ko e kau taki mo e kau taukave ki he liliu lelei. Tau fakafiefia’i ‘etau kehekehe, tau faka’apa’apa’i ‘etau ngaahi anga fakafonua, pea tau ngaue fakataha ke langa hake ha kaha’u lelei ange ma’atautolu pea mo e ngaahi to’utangata ka hoko mai.
Last month, I received a call from a dear friend here in Haiku on the North Shore of Maui. She shared that Aunty Carolʻs breast cancer was back. This time it was too far spread and she was resigned that her time here would soon come to a pass. We were shocked. Though I wanted her to fight and keep that battle going, I knew in my heart it was her decision to make and she made it with peace. It was not for me to tell her to keep trying treatments that would cause pain if she had decided it was her time to go.
What is ‘ohana?
What makes a grandmother? Here in Hawaiʻi, we are the most isolated densely populated land mass in the world. As such, the connections you form with people can take the role you might typically have with family members on the continent. Your ʻohana or family can become individuals that have no blood relation to you. However, the bonds you form are just as real and sometimes even stronger than blood relatives. These adopted relations are known as hānai and hoʻokama here in Hawaiʻi. We are blessed to have Aunty Carol come into our lives. The joy, the laughter, and even the tears—our lives are richer because of it.
A warm welcome
“Aloha”, written in vanilla bean pods from the farm on Maui. Photo: John A. Oliver
Aunty Carol was one of the first to welcome us to the Haiku community. Over a decade ago, having recently moved from California, my wife and I knew no one on Maui and we had our hands full with our six-year-old son and 4-year-old daughter. Not only were we new to the island, but we were also new to the ways of a farm that we had recently purchased. One of the main reasons we moved to Maui was to raise our keiki (children) in a community that was more accepting of our children being multi-racial. I am Caucasian and my wife is Filipino/Chinese. On the second day after moving in, we heard a knock at the door and a sweet, “aloha!” calling out to us. Aunty Carol was standing there with lilikoi butter, fresh baked bread, butter mochi, and the warmest smile. She told us she is our neighbor next door and said we have a pass-through gate between our properties so we can visit whenever we like.
Mountain apples from the farm on Maui. Photo: John A. Oliver
Hānai
My keiki immediately warmed to her and seemingly immediately she became their hānai grandmother. Hānai and hoʻokama are two terms used in Hawaiʻi that indicate a family relationship or bond that is adopted and not mandated by blood relationship. Aunty shared information and tips about the community and told us she has planned a party on Saturday in the afternoon to welcome us to Haiku. We were stunned. Coming from southern California, you avoided talking to your neighbors and most people kept to themselves. Here was a person with genuine open arms and love welcoming us. The next weekend we walked through the pass-through gate to the party she had arranged. We were welcomed by almost 30 guests greeting us with leis and aloha. Several of the guests were local musicians who played ukulele and sang beautiful Hawaiian mele (songs). It was a wonderous evening and we knew we had an immediate connection with her. She proceeded to invite us and at times just our keiki to the beach and showed us the visual arts center where she volunteered and her favorite local spots. We became ‘ohana.
Our families, completed
My keiki in the backyard on the farm on Maui. Photo: John A. Oliver
Over the next few years, we became closer and more intertwined. My keiki started school here locally and she would see them some afternoons at her cottage. She also invited us to meet new people and experience all that Maui has to offer. In some respects, she adopted us and we adopted her. We completed each other with our immense needs and personal belonging. Even though our keiki identify as Asian American, she being Caucasian never made any difference. They were her hānai grandchildren and she was their Tutu.
My keiki in the backyard on the farm on Maui. Photo: John A. Oliver
They were beautiful years of sharing and our keiki were so fortunate to have their hānai grandmother living next door. In time, she shared that she was a stage 4 breast cancer survivor. The illness never conquered her spirit and her fighting spirit always prevailed. Glowing and defiant, she shared that she was several years in remission and attributed the healing power of Maui to her health. She lives her life like that and taught my keiki to do the same.
Grateful through the hardships
When the COVID pandemic hit, she was on the continent receiving treatment. The cancer had come back. She spent the years in quarantine battling the terrible disease. As we expected, she conquered it again and was in full remission. Always upbeat, she kept her positive outlook and warm smile.
This year has been particularly hard for our community here on Maui. We were fortunate in that my family did not lose lives in the wildfires, but we did lose our condo in beloved Lahaina that was rented and brought us financial security. That loss was also our savings and retirement. Again, we found ourselves grateful and yet hurting by the loss felt by our fellow community members. Given my position at work, I spent most days working to uplift community members and strengthen their mental health. That continues to this day.
Occasionally I would hear from Aunty Carol and she would ask if we were okay and always had our health and personal well being at the forefront. We asked how she was doing and she said better. She told my keiki how proud she was of them and all their accomplishments. The calls always ended on her expressions of aloha filled with love for them and us.
The farewell dinner
As we walked up to the restaurant, I remembered how Aunty Carol had mentioned how much she was looking forward to seeing us and had ended her last text by saying it would be her farewell meal with us. There she was, as always, ready to greet us with aloha. Although I felt deep sadness, in the sunlight she looked radiant in a bright dress that matched her warm smile and glowing eyes. We shared miso butterfish, teri chicken, garlic noodles, and some Cinco de Mayo inspired treats including horchata tiramisu. But even better, we shared a meal of catching up and time spent together. My keiki talked of their adventures and she reflected a look of love and grandmotherly pride in her eyes and smile. She was soaking them in as she always did. Not once did she mention her condition or the physical pain she surely felt. We ate as an ʻohana together as we always have—celebrating and sharing of each other.
Sharing a meal at Tiffany’s Maui. Photo: John A. Oliver
A family is not always made by blood. If lucky, sometimes fate will bring an ʻohana together and make them one.
When we ate way too much as we always do here, she said she had to leave soon. Before going, she asked the waiter to take our picture. She then wanted to take a group shot in front of the restaurant’s brightly painted wall. Outside, she wanted to take pictures again of her with the keiki and then with us. At her car, she said she had brought something for the keiki. The car trunk opened and inside was a box full of leather-bound books. They were classics like Huckleberry Finn and Moby Dick. My keiki’s eyes lit up. They were the books from her cottage that they always would look at when visiting her on rainy and sunny days over the years. She used to tell them they were magical books and they could read them whenever they visited and talk story with her.
Sharing a meal at Tiffany’s Maui. Photo: John A. Oliver
She said it was time to say Aloha. She gave us each her characteristically warm embrace. You could feel her love enter your heart with that hug. We watched and waved as she got into her car. Still smiling, I could see tears in her eyes as she drove away.
Maui Nō Ka ʻOi
My keiki identify as Asian American. It is part of their identity as the spirit of Aloha and Maui is part of their culture and identity being raised in Haiku. Aunty Carol as their hānai tutu and our aunty is proof that blood does not always factor in being connected and related to someone. She is evidence that love transcends race and unites those who belong together as an ʻohana.
Against the backdrop of the tremendous losses and grief of the Lahaina wildfires, I have felt a sadness familiar to many of us. And a reader might feel sadness knowing that this meal we shared together as an ʻohana will likely be our last together. Aunty Carol said Aloha to us and gave us each a final embrace to say farewell. She chose to do so in this moment to have our memory of her as she is now. I will cherish every conversation we have had and will have as long as we may have them. I am grateful for every moment she has been in our lives.
Rainbow on Haleakala, Maui. Photo: John A. Oliver
We should all be so fortunate to be able to individually make that choice of how we shall be remembered by those we love. I take comfort in knowing that though one may pass physically, their spirit stays with us always. I have experienced this before with dear friends who have physically left this land. As I have strolled at sunset among my fruit trees and smelled the citrus blossoms, I often sense their presence in the trade winds. A warmth goes through my heart and I inherently know they are the strength within me. I find comfort in knowing that she will one day visit me there as well.
I am reminded of the Hawaiian proverb:
“Aloha Mai No Aloha Aku O Kaa Huhu Kaa Mea E Ola Ole Ai”
When Love Is Given, Love Naturally Flows Back In Return. Mahalo.
“Be quiet.” “Don’t speak up.” “Don’t stand out.” “Don’t be different.” “Don’t be difficult.”
These are some spoken and unspoken messages I received from my Korean family, society, and culture while growing up in South Korea. What I realized later is that those voices continue to play an important role in my personal, professional, and social interactions in daily life.
I know I am not alone.
I’ve met many Asian women who struggle to break the silence to speak up about their own needs, rights, and experiences.
Many Asian women and girls think our silence protects us from shame, guilt, and judgment, even believing that keeping quiet keeps us safe and saves our face.
For me, the truth was the opposite.
Breaking the silence led me and my mother to experience empowerment and healing. That’s what we discovered when we started sharing our stories with each other at first and ultimately through our memoir writing.
WATCH: How did the book come to be?
Journey of Healing
It all started when I met my mother on Korea’s Jeju Island in 2019.
My mother epitomized silence throughout my life, until the night she began sharing stories about my grandmother. Her life swung wildly between poverty and privilege. She was born into a poor family and was forced to marry a rich man as his second wife. She lived through Japanese colonization and the Korean War, when she had to flee her home and lost her husband. She was left with two young children, one of them my mother.
Being resilient, my grandma started a small business in her new hometown, which was successful in the beginning. Still, she ended up losing everything again when her business partner sexually assaulted her and cheated her on a business deal. My mother’s stories shed light on my grandmother’s life before my birth; as a child, I only experienced her stoic silence.
My mother went on to share skeletons in her own closet. She spoke of fleeing her village overnight and losing her father. She surrendered her dreams of studying literature and becoming a writer. Instead, she became a nurse and later a community leader, facing gender discrimination as a single mother in conservative Korean society.
My mother and grandmother survived their tumultuous lives the only way they knew how—by enduring pain and swallowing their sorrows. After 50 years, my mother finally broke her silence on Jeju Island. As her daughter, I could finally understand my mother and grandmother. I started to connect dots, making sense of my restlessness and rootlessness.
Journey of transformation
I knew I needed to do something with all the new information and insights. I invited my mother to write a book together. Initially reluctant, wondering who’d want to read their shameful family stories, she eventually agreed, hoping her story would support silenced girls and women heal from trauma.
Once she committed, she sent me photos of handwritten notes in which she explored her trauma, emotions, and thoughts as well as the newfound energy stemming from her unexpected transformation.
I asked her to visit me and my wife in California. Again, after initial reluctance, she eventually came. She greeted Christel, my wife, with a big hug and she fully embraced our relationship, which transformed her idea of god and love.
WATCH: Why did you write this book?
One Person
During her visit I asked her what would have allowed her to make better decisions or start her healing process earlier in life.
“Having just one person to talk to,” she replied.
My mother never talked with my grandmother about hardships in her life. She explained:
“It’s not like we didn’t love each other. We just didn’t know how to talk vulnerably; we didn’t know how to listen to a painful story to support each other. We didn’t know how to encourage or comfort each other.”
She looked me in the eyes and said words I will never forget:
“Now, I have that one person in my life. It’s you, daughter. I decided to tell you about my stories, and now I have shared even more than I expected. I told you everything. I don’t feel sad anymore. I even laugh at myself and my nonsensical decisions. Now I have that one person.”
Through a stable and committed relationship with a supportive adult, her daughter, she reconnected with her younger self, restored childlike qualities and resilience, and responded to her experiences with new perspectives, self-compassion, and hope.
WATCH: What do you hope people can learn?
Collective Healing of Asian Girls and Women
As a professor at San José State University teaching counseling theories and supporting people who’ve experienced trauma, unpacking stories of trauma with my mother deepened my understanding of how intergenerational unspoken shame can emotionally mummify someone.
Through my work, I’ve met many Asian women who thought silence would protect them, but ultimately felt lost inside. I was one of them until I wrote this book. I did not know how to genuinely connect with myself. Together, my mother and I transformed our trauma into a source of love and healing.
Through sharing personal stories, women can find strength, resilience, and solidarity on their collective journey of healing and self-discovery. I hope my memoir validates, inspires, and connects many on their own healing journeys.
WATCH: full interview with Kyoung Mi Choi about her book, "The Child Behind the Bushes".
Project Facilitator, AANHPI ‘Ohana Center of Excellence, University Diversity Officer at California State University East Bay.
By Kathleen Wong(Lau)
Circular ones with the pointy crescent ends connected, crescent shaped ones with box pleats on one side, and crescents with braided edges. We made 180 Chinese style dumplings one evening after a full 8-hour day of our working retreat, our many pairs of hands sharing different finishing techniques learned from ancestors. We ate some and froze some to take home when we departed three days later.
The main goals of our retreat were to reflect on our work our first year, strategize on Year 2 implementation on CoE initiatives, deepen our relationships for collaborative work; and engage in a culturally immersive experience that enhances a holistic understanding of our ethnic communities. The most important goal is to decolonize our work with each other so that we can consistently center the behavioral health needs of Native Hawaiian and Pacific Islanders along with Asian Americans.
Last year our site was on the Island of Hawaiʻi, where we retreated at a culturally reclaimed historic site of a former boarding school for Native Hawaiian girls. This year our retreat site was in the Continental U.S. in Watsonville, California at Pajaro Dunes on the shores of Monterey Bay. Watsonville has a deep historic meaning that we honored as the ceded territory of the Amah Mutsun band of the Ohlone people, and the site of the 1930 Watsonville riots, a violent hate response to the presence and labor of Filipino farm workers in the early 1900s. See the video below for a video land acknowledgment of this region. With the spirit of ‘Ohana, our team discussed and honored these histories as we began our work just as we did in Hawaiʻi last year.
Over the three days we grappled with implementation plans for multiple projects, pushed each other towards understanding, and challenged each other (because that is what healthy families do). We also cooked with each other, walked on the beaches of Monterey Bay in the early mornings, and talked about our hopes and dreams for our CoE and for our communities. We truly became ‘Ohana.
I share all of this because I think it is important for us as a team to model the humanity, cultural humility, and trust-building necessary to engage fully on creating systemic equity and access for improving mental health and substance use treatment for our incredibly diverse AANHPI communities across the U.S. and Pacific Islands affiliated with the U.S.
Lunar New Year is a diverse and beautiful holiday that is celebrated among many Asian cultures and families. In celebration of Lunar New Year, the team at the AANHPI ‘Ohana Center of Excellence has several stories of the significance of Lunar Near Year, and how we each celebrate this time of year.
by Ni Zhang
On Feb 3rd, from 6-8 p.m, at Milpitas Civic Center Plaza, the local communities celebrated the Lunar New Year with live performances by the Aimusic School, VietYouth, Cantrelle’s Martial Arts, and Tina Dance School. The local communities were immersed in the festivity during this two-hour cultural feast. We enjoyed songs in ethnic languages and the music played with traditional musical instruments. The kids were happily engaged in creative crafts including making a dragon and calligraphy (see the picture of the word Dragon written in calligraphy by my 6-years old daughter). It was a great opportunity to inspire her to learn Chinese words and Chinese culture.
The word Dragon written in calligraphy by my 6-year old daughter.
The lion and dragon dances were the highlights of the joyful event (see the video), which ended with a thrilling round of firecrackers. The firecrackers reminded me of all the Lunar New Year holidays that I spent in China before I came to the U.S. Many years ago, before the ban on firecrackers due to air pollution, almost every house in China lit firecracker on New Year’s Eve, while the family members get together to enjoy delicious traditional food and toast for a new year!
Ni and daughter at Milpitas Civic Center Plaza Lunar New Year celebration
Now let me make a toast to you: wish you a happy new year of Dragon, be as energetic as a dragon, and everything goes well for you. But don’t drink too much at parties. 😊 祝大家龙年，龙虎精神，万事兴“龙”！聚会时请不要贪杯哦。
Final appreciation to all the volunteers, community members, and local governments that made this event with free admission for all the communities happen. Thank you and happy new year!
by Kathleen Wong(Lau)
The first day of the Asian Lunar New Year in 2024 is February 10, 2024. For many Asian families around the globe, New Year’s Eve, is the most important night with a tradition of gathering for a special dinner with family and preparing specific traditional foods. Many of the traditions have a spiritual aspect with a recognition of connection to ancestors, the elderly, and a celebration of children. This year New Year’s Eve is February 9th. The celebrations will continue for 15 days with visits to family and friends and the exchange of gifts of food and fruit along with red envelopes of lucky money for children. In my family, we spend days preparing food for New Year’s Eve dinner and buy gifts of food, plants, and lucky peach and plum blossom branches for neighbors and friends to be shared in the coming 15 days. We also clean our homes and family shrines to welcome the new year in good luck, health, and fortune. It is a time of renewal, a connection to the past and to the future.
by Kyoung Mi Choi
Kyoung Mi Choi is a Professor in the Department of Counselor Education at San José State University, Program Specialist at the AANHPI ‘Ohana Center of Excellence. She is a regularly contributor to Psychology Today, Courageously and Boldly.
Memories of Seollal, Korean Lunar New Year
Having grown up in South Korea, I enjoyed the excitement surrounding the Lunar New Year, also known as Gujeong (구정) or Seollal (설날). Although I didn’t fully understand why we celebrated twice – once on the first day of January based on the solar calendar and again on the first day of the lunar calendar, which changes each year, I have fond memories of all the delicious dishes we had, such as Tteokguk (떡국, rice cake soup, a popular holiday dish symbolizing the gaining of a year in age), Jeon (전, savory pancakes), mandu (만두, dumplings), Japchae (잡채, a stir-fried dish made with glass noodles), and Bulgogi (불고기, thinly sliced marinated beef).
Family gatherings were filled with laughter and traditional games like Yutnori (윷놀이, a board game played with sticks). For children, it was common to wear traditional Korean clothing (한복, Hanbok) and fly kites (연날리기) with other kids in the neighborhood in the crispy cold air.
Children with Hanbok (Korean traditional cloths). Photo courtesy of Pixabay
Traditional Korean Food for Seollal courtesy of Korea.NET
During Seollal, we observed the special traditional bowing ceremony called Sebae (세배), where younger family members bow to their elders as a sign of respect and to receive blessings for the new year. In return, elders give blessings and money to the younger generation. I often saved the money, Sebaedone (세벳돈), received during Sebae to buy school supplies and books I desired but couldn’t afford.
Since immigrating to the United States over 20 years ago, I’ve sought to maintain my cultural connections and traditions, much like many other Korean Americans. Celebrating Seollal allows me to gather with Asian and Asian American friends and families, sharing our ancestral foods and reflecting on our immigration journeys. This sense of community and belonging is palpable among many Asian American friends and families.
I discovered that the Bay Area hosts numerous cultural events and community celebrations, providing opportunities to reconnect with my childhood memories and cultural identity. If you’re in the Bay Area, I invite you to join me in celebrating this special month with our families, friends, and communities as we honor our diverse traditions and heritages.
Here are some events you might consider attending:
The Lunar New Year is a significant celebration that holds a special place in the cultural heritage of various Asian communities, such as Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Vietnamese, Taiwanese, Mongolian, Malaysian, Indonesian, Singaporean, and more. This vibrant festivity is based on the lunar calendar and begins with the first new moon and ends on the first full moon. It symbolizes the start of a new year filled with good fortune and happiness.
This year, 2024, marks the Year of the Wood Dragon that symbolizes strength and the fulfillment of aspirations. The celebration begins on February 9th, and it is a time of cultural reflection and festivity (source).
The Lunar New Year is celebrated in various communities throughout the United States, particularly among Asian American communities. According to a Pew Research Center study, around two-thirds of Chinese, Korean, Japanese, and Vietnamese Americans participate in Lunar New Year festivities (source).
Although not an official federal holiday in the United States, the Lunar New Year is gaining recognition. This is exemplified by California’s recent acknowledgment of the event. In 2022, the state, which boasts the largest Asian American population in the country, officially observed the occasion. Governor Newsom signed AB 2596, designating the Lunar New Year as a state holiday. This allows state employees to take the day off in honor of this culturally significant event (source).
Similar strides have been made in major cities like New York, where the Lunar New Year is recognized as a school holiday (source).
The Lunar New Year has a deep cultural and social significance that goes beyond just the festivities. It has a positive impact on emotional and psychological well-being. The celebration helps to foster family bonds, social connections, and a sense of cultural identity. The engagement in traditional customs and rituals also fosters a shared cultural experience that reduces isolation and enhances social cohesion. This is especially important for first-generation immigrants, like myself, who have limited family support in the United States.
During this time, I find comfort and connection by reaching out to loved ones in South Korea and the United States, inviting friends over, preparing traditional Korean dishes, and participating in community events. All these activities help me stay connected to my cultural heritage, which enhances my emotional and psychological welfare.
by Lesther Papa
Lunar New Year on the Westside of Kaua‘i
I have rather fond memories of learning cultural traditions in Hawaii, the island of Kauai specifically. I was raised on the westside of the island in a town of primarily Filipino, Japanese, and Chinese immigrants. Starting in elementary school, we regularly learned about cultural traditions of Native Hawaiians, Pacific Islanders, and the Asian immigrants that worked in the sugar cane plantations. One of my vivid memories is learning about Lunar New Year, then referred to as Chinese New Year. We learned the Cantonese greeting for Lunar New Year (Gong Hay Fat Choy) and created either decorations or accessories in celebration of the holiday. I loved learning about the lunar zodiac and feeling immensely proud (and lucky) to be born in the year of the dragon. You could feel when the holiday was approaching as the Buddhist temples and local restaurants began adorning red and gold for the holiday. Naturally then, it only feels fitting to share these memories as we are about to ring in the year of the dragon again!
Now, learning about Lunar New Year was great. But what really got me excited was the food and the lion dancers. I remember the first time I encountered lion dancers. I was probably in kindergarten at the time and so our class was seated closer to the stage. It was thrilling to hear the drums and chimes begin the performance and to see the lion on stage. Its comically large head, brilliant red and gold body, and beautifully adorned face and mane will be forever an image that I remember. I remember the tricks and comedy that happened on stage and thoroughly delighted at watching the performance. What happened next will also be a lifelong memory. To my surprise, lion came down from the stage! No longer was I a spectator but now I was an active participant. Imagine my panic as one of the performers on stage announced on the microphone, “If the lion snaps or tries to bite you, that’s okay. That’s lucky!” Little five-year-old me could not comprehend how anything biting you could be lucky. I joined my classmates in the screaming and laughing that ensued as the lion made its rounds around the students.
When the assembly was dismissed, I breathed a sigh of relief and reminded myself that the best was yet to come, food! During this time, many foods got associated with Lunar New Year but the typical roster of dishes that I remember would be: manapua (steamed pork char siu buns), Chinese pretzels, kimchi, manju, stir-fried noodles (fried saimin and pancit), and dumplings (fried wonton). These foods were always around but were especially consumed at least in our house around the time of Lunar New Year.
Besides food though, my family did not do much else to celebrate Lunar New Year. As Filipino immigrants, they came from areas of the Philippines that did not celebrate Lunar New Year. The Philippines does have a significant Chinese community that observes the Lunar New Year. The influence of Chinese culture in the Philippines dates back centuries, with the arrival of Chinese immigrants who settled in the archipelago long before the Spanish colonization. Over time, these immigrants integrated into Filipino society while retaining their cultural practices, including the celebration of Lunar New Year. Today, Chinese-Filipinos, also known as Tsinoys, play a significant role in preserving and enriching these traditions.
As the holiday quickly approaches, I am excited to continue on enjoying the festivities and foods of Lunar New Year!
‘Ohana, Aiga, Kainga, Kopu tangata, Magafaoa, Whanau—Family, is central to Pacific communities and is part of our Pacific people’s cultural identity. While we understand the Pacific is not monolithic, there are some cultural values like family that are shared throughout. We have chosen to use the Native Hawaiian word ‘ohana and will define family through its use. ‘Ohana is most often translated as “family, relative, kin group, or to be related to”. But it can also mean “to gather for family prayers, lineage, race, tribe, or those who dwell together and compose a family.” As we makawalu—look deeper, into this concept, we can look to the concepts and root words within ʻohana.
Native Hawaiians much like other Pacific Islanders can trace their genealogical lineage back to the birth of their islands and people. Papahānaumoku earth mother, and Wākea sky father, together birthed the islands and Hoʻohōkūkalani stars. Wākea and Hoʻohokukalani together birthed a child who was still. In their sadness, they named their child Hāloa, meaning long or eternal breath. After burying Hāloa, a plant grew from the same space where they had buried their child. This plant had heart-shaped leaves and was the first kalo (taro). Their second child was also named Hāloa in honor of his older brother. Hāloa became the first Hawaiian person, and all those descended from him were fed and sustained by the kalo, his older brother. This relationship highlights the importance of teu le vā /tauhi vā an important Pacific value that describes the ongoing cultural obligation one has to tend to, look after, or nurture our families, our villages, and our environment.
For Native Hawaiians and Pacific Islanders within ‘ohana, there are no barriers; everyone should feel safe and cared for. ‘Ohana, fosters the reciprocal relationship between kānaka (people), ‘āina (land), and akua/pili ‘uhane (spirituality). We are all one ‘ohana.
“Every cloud, rainstorm, lightning flash, ti plant, and maile vine was a body form of Kane. Rainclouds, rain, lush ferns, aholehole fish and certain types of seaweed revealed the god Lono. The god Kanaloa was represented by the deep ocean depths by squid, octopus and certain kinds of seashells” (William Pila Kikuchi, “Heritage of Kaua‘i,”
Pono Shim, a beloved Native Hawaiian cultural practitioner, and kumu shared the teachings of Aunty Pilahi Paki concerning ‘ohana, she said, “The world will turn to Hawai‘i as they search for world peace because Hawai‘i has the key… And that key is Aloha!” Pono Shim further explained that another root of the word ‘ohana, is hana. While hana is translated as “work”, and when understood through a Hawaiian and Pacific Islander lens, hana much like teu le vā /tauhi vā is the call to act or do something.
To break down the word further, ha-na, “when we ha, breathe, we na release, set free, through akahai, grace, leaving it better than you found it. ‘O refers to of or eternal/eternity. So, when we na, we unleash never-ending grace..”
“All the members of an ‘ohana, hana forever. The concept is to honor each person’s hana. We have space for people to expand, recover, discover, innovate, and improve their hana. We Honor and need each other’s hana—that’s ‘ohana”
The term ‘Ohana has been adapted by many Asian Americans living in Hawai‘i or the West Coast of continental United States as a term more fitting than the English word “family” which tends to imply a nuclear family.
Kalo Connections across the Pacific and Asia
Kalo was not native to Hawai‘i. In fact, some of the first written records of kalo came from China, around 200 BC. The first Polynesian voyagers who traversed the oceans and settled in Hawai‘i may have carried kalo plants on their double-hulled canoes to help sustain them wherever they would travel (citation).
Kalo, also known as taro is an ancient food crop first domesticated 9000 years in Asia. Historically, taro has been a subsistence crop cultivated throughout Asia, Hawai‘i, Associated Pacific Islands, and West Africa.
