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Giving Ha

Here is the recipe for Confusion: thirty teens from across the world, a dash of British and French accents, a teaspoon of the fifty states, and a large mixing bowl called Hawai'i. It is an International Camp, and I am fortunate enough to be stirred into atmosphere of it. My Hawaiian ancestry is the secret ingredient that bakes me right in. I know that nothing can take away what I am learning about my background, but the spices of the islands certainly add to the flavor.

Lunchtime is finally here!  A ham sandwich sits in my lap, along with Maui chips. All morning, my friends and I have been pulling weeds in the streams and the lo'i fields. The lo'i fields are where Hawaiians grow the beloved taro root. It is a privilege to take part in the harvesting of taro. Although our clothes are painted with red dirt, our faces are alive with satisfying exhaustion, and the sight of food.

As we take the last bites of our lunches, Auntie Nalani, the woman who owns the farm, finds a place on the picnic table before us. She carries a sweet expression, but she has a strong voice. No Pidgin English. "Mahalo to all of you. Your help in the fields today is very appreciated.  Now Uncle and I can rest this afternoon."

"I want to show you all, especially those of you who don't live in the islands, a tradition we have here." She explains to us that we should all know how to give ha. It is a sign of respect and a greeting in formal situations."Ha" means "breath" in the ancient Hawaiian language. When you give ha, you breathe in the breath of another person. You must allow yourself to be selfless. It's like breathing in the life of another person.'

She asks Ron to sit on the bench next to her. Ron, a student from the Philippines, clearly has no idea what is happening. Auntie places her hands on the sides of his head and brings their foreheads together. Everyone is silent.  Bewilderment. They don't even know each other! Thoughts flit across my mind. "Ha? What?! They're practically kissing! Poor Ron. I hope I don't have to do that!"

After what seems like five minutes, probably longer for Ron, they part.  Auntie turns to us and her eyes radiate happiness. Ron clumsily takes his seat, looking embarrassed. "Do you understand a bit more why we give ha? It brings a sense of calm and understanding between two people. Now before you leave, I want you all to give ha. I'll stand right here, and each one of you will have a turn."

Moments later, I find myself before Auntie. She greets me with a gentle smile, and brings her forehead to mine. I close my eyes take a deep breath, trying to relax. Breathe. Before I know it, she steps back. "Have a safe trip home, aloha." She says. In a trance, I join my friends on the path; we don't say anything about giving ha. There seems to be an unspoken agreement that we all understand how important it is to the Hawaiian culture.

I am amazed at how infectious the aloha spirit is. Leis, hugs, and kisses are exchanged at everyday meetings. Although it's overwhelming at first, I wish Minnesota had that undying sense of community. In those few seconds, I found common ground with my heritage, and that gave me a sense of resolution. I've come to realize that though I don't live in Hawai'i, I can live with the same energy and lust for life that I would if I did. Everyday I wake up and remind myself that respect and clarity of mind are what I yearn. I try to spread the essence of the islands to those around me; instead of giving ha, I settle for a simple smile, which fits the modesty of the Midwest. I've noticed one thing: every smile radiates back.