A Letter to My Son

My dearest I.S. Ruben,

Son, tonight, like most nights before you go to bed, you gently opened my door and said, “Good night, Dad. I love you, Dad. Sleep well, Dad.” And tonight, like most nights, I acknowledged you with a mumble, “Hmm, hmm, hmm.” I was so busy reading through other people’s comments and posts on Facebook and caring about their feelings and such that I didn’t even turn around to look at you as you were wishing me a good night sleep. “Oh, and by the way, I had to run home from the park because there was lightning and I was scared,” you added. My usual response was, “Hmmm.” Several hours later, as the house quieted down and as I lay in bed trying to sleep, I thought about you and the way I treated you earlier. I tried to imagine how you must have felt when the only most treasured thing you can possibly give me, the assurance of your unconditional love for me, was fallen on my deaf ears. I got up and went to your room and peeked in. You were already asleep so I went back to my room and I thought some more about you and how you seem to bring sunshine into my darkest days and how you always seem to remind me that the problems and low points in my life are very small in comparison to your problems and your lows. And I thought, then how come you always manage to smile and infect other people, me included, with that killer smile of yours?  Where do you find all the strengths and power to smile and find humor and happiness even in the face of adversity? How do you manage to hide your sorrow, sadness and vulnerability? So, I sat back up and started to write down these thoughts that I have about you and the way I feel about you. I hope that you will forgive me for being such an a**hole of a father. 
It seems like only yesterday when the doctor told me that you had to come out because your mom was not healthy enough to carry you to the full 9-month term. So, you were C-sec'd out two months early. I still remember helplessly watching you through the incubator as you struggled to breath, with tubes in your face and IV needles in your veins, trying to make sense of what had just happened. I prayed constantly during those trying times. I prayed for your mom and I prayed for you. You were so fragile that I flinched every time the nurses moved you, thinking they might hurt you. I was so happy when they finally took off the tubes and IV and let me hold your tiny body for the first time. Your tiny head could fit inside the palm of my hand. As I held you and cradled you in my arms, I thank God for giving us another son. In that ward at the Chuuk Hospital, I made another promise, just like the ones I made when your older siblings were born. I promised that I will love you with all my heart, my soul and my being. You smiled and then you arched your left eyebrow--a feat non of us except your mom can duplicate--then closed your eyes and went back to sleep.
So, tonight, I reaffirm that promise:  Sometimes I may not show it but know this, son: I love you forever. 

Where Do We Go From Here?

I am making these observations as a Chuukese living on the outside looking into this enigma called, “Chuuk.” I am calling it that for I just don’t know what to call it anymore. I used to called it fondly and with pride as my home; my beloved state; where I long to be; my burial place and home of my children’s children’s children. As I peer into this process, I cannot help but recognized some remnants of what used to be a very well organized and yet adaptable society where life was simple but it supported and catered to the whims and well-being of its citizens. And I am saddened to see only the bits and pieces of that proud and peaceful existence. The once fierce and wise leaders and loyal stalwarts of the municipalities and clans that make up Chuuk are gone. However, if they are still alive, they are stripped of their prerogatives to lead their people effectively and control their realms fairly and charismatically. They, along with their wisdom and mastery of negotiations and of conflict resolutions which are key to an island environment where everyone knows everybody, were no longer accepted in this new era and were thrown out like old mats that dirty up our modern linoleum and ceramic floors. In their places are starry-eyed, ambitious young Chuukese with college degrees earned through their theses on Quantum Theories of Relativity and The Philosophy of the Metrosexual Man in Retrospect, and The Experiment: The Effect of Turkey Tails on Island People, and so on. They came and suppressed the old-age knowledge and skills honed through thousands of years of trial and error by our ancestors who knew what was best for the existence of their descendants in and on an island environment and force on the people their new-found knowledge from far away continents which really does not have anything in common with the Chuuk way of life. This changing of the Chuukese way of life to the modern Western lifestyle brings about the demise of the Chuukese identity. They said we should move forward into the 21^st century. It is the only way to go. Well, it seems that we’ve arrived there but what do we show for it? Are we better off now that we have cell phones and high speed internet; that we ride in imported automobiles and fiberglass boats with outboard motors and fly in jet planes to destinations all over the world? In order to have all these modern technologies, nano inventions, and high tech toys, we also need to have a lot of money to make sure that they are always updated and upgraded; that subscriptions are always paid on time; that we always have fuel for our boats and automobiles and, that we have thousands of dollars to purchase United airline tickets to Hawaii or the continental USA. Indeed, we cannot go back to the way we were anymore. We’ve ignored the Last of the Mohicans and there is nobody left anymore to show us how to do just that. In the Mortlocks, only a handful of men still know how to carve a canoe out of a breadfruit tree. But still, they can only now build the single or two-seater canoe. No one still has the skills and knowledge to build a sailing canoe, the majestic Maaisuuk or the sleek and sea-worthy Eachol and the likes. So, herein lies the problem. There are thousands of fiberglass boats with outboard motors owned by Chuukese families through the generous donations and distributions of what was known OIC (Only In Chuuk) as “projects” by our congressmen and legislators. These were purchased by porks that were appropriated every year to buy votes and other political favors by our congressmen and legislators. Many of these “project  boats” are now idled because of lack of money to buy fuel and parts for the motors. And since the canoe was forced out of existence by these sleek and fast fiberglass boats, there are no more alternatives to travel between the islands and to and from favorite fishing spots. The small commercial or passenger boats were also forced out of existence by these thousands of “project boats”--thanks to our distinguished starry-eyed congressmen and legislators. Yes, it's true! We have arrived! BUT, we have arrived at where we once started from. Only this time, we are 100% dependent on someone else to lead us, to show us and to sustain us. So, where do we go from here? Full speed ahead or full speed backwards? You’re a Chuukese, you decide.

The Threat of Sea-Level Rise on Oneop Island

It is a known fact that the warming of the planet has caused the polar ice caps to melt at a very rapid rate that scientists predicted that as a consequence, the sea-level rise will be increased by 1 meter within this century. Well, if  you look at those figures, 1 meter in one century doesn't seem much. But that is if you are living on a continent or at high elevations. But for us on Oneop or on and in any low-lying atolls, where the highest points of our islands are a mere few meters above sea-level, this is BIG! This threatens our very existence and should be given priority over everything else. It is up to us to be creative and try to come up with solutions that will guarantee that our islands are still there for our children and our children's children to live and survive and carry on our legacy as Mortlockese.
Here are a few ideas and suggestions on how to start addressing this threat on a grass-root level instead of waiting for the government or other entities to come and do it for us:

• Radical Landscaping and Shoreline Restructuring - the only way this can work is for every shorelines and tidelands owners to give up the strip of property from shoreline out to 15 meters in the water all around the islands. This property will be obtain by the municipal government through an easement or through an eminent domain scheme. After all, if nothing is done, there won't be any more land or people to hold the deeds to these properties. The island will be gone and everyone will be gone or, if they are fortunate, relocated to another place. At the outer perimeter of this 15 meter strip, this is where the shoreline restructuring will take place. Oneop Island tried to do a similar project in the 90's but it was poorly designed and it met many oppositions by some land and tide-land owners that it, ultimately, failed. This new project will require the cooperation of all the islanders in order for it to succeed. It is a 100-year project and it will take several generations of islanders to finish it and make it work. The people will work on this project with the understanding that their very life and existence depend on the success of this project. It is not a contract so there is no deadline to beat. People will work at their own pace but they should always keep in their minds that they are working on this in order to stay alive. They have to understand that there is no pay. This is purely volunteer work as there is no price on life. There are several methods and types of shoreline restructuring and erosion control that we can adopt for our small and fragile island. Here is a sample of one project. Yes, this is an aesthetic nightmare but it will serve its purpose. Among many, this type of wave breaker/erosion control is ideal for our islands. In fact, one of the benefits of adopting this system is that it not only provide a wave breaker but it also reverses erosion. Because of the shapes of each individual concrete element, when randomly placed, it leaves spaces, nooks and crannies that will dissipate wave force as it breaks on the structure. As the wave recedes, it will deposit sands and coral rocks that it churned up from the sea floor. This constant breaking of waves on the structure will create dynamic sand dunes or beaches beyond the concrete structure. So, that in itself is an island builder. Yes, it is a monumental task or undertaking, but as mentioned earlier, it is a 100-year project and it is doable. If the people are willing to do this project, they can raise some money to purchase the metal forms and then commit themselves to fabricate 10 to 20 elements per year. The government can then provide assistance when it sees that people are committed to this life-saving project. That's how government sometimes work. It needs to see initiatives from the community in order for it to provide support and funding.
• Mitigation and Conservation of Mangroves and Other Shoreline Plants and Vegetation - The decimation of our shoreline ecosystems, primarily the erosion-controlling plants and vegetation (chia, chokiis, net, umaaf, etc.), is one of the reason why we see the rapid disappearance of our shorelines and the acceleration of the encroachment of seawater into our taro patches, plantations and water lens. We often see stumps of coconut trees out in the water and we often wondered why someone planted coconut offshore. In fact, those coconuts were used to be on land and due to erosion of the  beachheads and sand bars, they are now standing in the water. This is a result of the disappearance of our shoreline plants and vegetation which hold the topsoil intact. The mitigation of this ecosystem is essential in the reversal of the erosion of our shorelines. The plants and vegetation also serve as the natural wave and wind breakers for our islands. If we replant or reintroduce these erosion-controlling plants and vegetation, it slowly but surely help restore our rapidly disappearing shorelines.
• Radical Agricultural Practices And Introduction of Salt-water Resistant Crops (Taro, Breadfruits, Bananas and Other Local Staples) -- If we cannot prevent the intrusion of salt-water into our plantation and water lens, it is wise to look at other options that will work well with the building of sea-walls and the replanting of erosion-controlling plants and vegetation. All Oneopese males who often go into the taro patch to plant, cultivate and care for their plants know that there are always controlled seepages of salt-water into our taro patch. In fact, the old men said that the reason why the "konomel" of Oneop is so delicious and popular is because it is "salialela chok" meaning "no need meat". The salt plays a major role in the chemistry and genetic makeup of our taro. The salt-water seepage is controlled by nature so its effects on the whole taro patch is minimal. There are some "weep-holes" from where salt-water seeps into our taro patch all year round. Sometimes the seepage is small, sometimes it is large depending on the position of our planet in relation to the sun and the moon (in other words, TIDES). In addition, the amount of standing fresh water in our taro patch also determines the extend of the salt-water damage. Some of these salt-water "weep-holes" are located at Lukun Lukunopwong, Lukun Kako and Lukun Lukula. Even if we erect a high sea-wall or elevate the land, we may not be able to elevate the taro patch. In fact, it will become lower in relation to dry land and it will be difficult to drain the intrusion of sea water from it. The salt-water seepage from the "weep-holes" will continue to accumulate until the whole taro plantation becomes a murky sea-water lake without any more taro pants. So what is the plan? Well, when all else fail, when we can no longer defeat the intrusion of salt-water into our taro patch, it is only natural that we come up with some radical agricultural practices and techniques in planting our taro. I hate to say this, but we have to start planting our crops in elevated concrete containment like the ones that some of the Yap outer islands experimented with in the 80's and 90's (We'll explore this in detail at other time). We have to work with scientists and experts on developing salt-water resistant crops. The University of Hawaii and other South Pacific institutions are already studying and experimenting on these things. We can also look into hydroponic farming such that some of our allies and friends in the global community are the leaders. We can utilize our close friendship with them and ask them to help us design and build our own hydroponic systems to use to plant our own food.
• We need to address these issues now as the threat of sea-level rise is real and looming over our head. We need to think about our future and the future of our children and their children's children. Once the island is gone, so is our identity. There will be no more "back home" so we will be nomads again.

What Goes Around Comes Around

Here in Hawaii, we (the poor Micronesians) are stigmatized as the harbinger of all the social, political and economical ills that befall this wonderful state. Yes! Blame it on the new immigrants--the Micros. They're the reason Hawaii is in the dumps. They're the reason the not-so-local Hawaiians are struggling with homelessness, drug abuses, and corruptions. They needed a scapegoat and they've found one in the stupid Micros. There is so much negative stereotypes that people here in Hawaii are projecting to the hapless and seemingly ignorant Micronesians. Even the second and third generation immigrants from other foreign countries follow suit and blame every thing on us.
Ironically, while little flak is directed towards us from the true indigenous Hawaiians, we're getting hard hits on all fronts by the  modern day bourgeois: descendants of the Portuguese cowhands, the Japanese, Okinawan and Chinese fishermen and laborers, the Ilocano plantation workers, and the tough Polynesian warriors and football players from American Samoa.
As new arrivals, we will try our best to be strong and to persevere. It is only natural that we endure the same hardship and face the same challenges that each of the ethnic minority groups went through as they tried to establish a foothold in this new community. We will run the gauntlet of ridicule and letdowns; we will go through the FOB hazing and finger-pointing; we will bear the brunt of Island 98.5 Micro-jokes and we will swallow our pride just for a while longer.
We've come a long way and, short of a mass deportation back to our country on large ships, we will remain here. The fact of the matter is, we didn't ask to be here. We were invited. Uncle Sam decided to show his might by hydogen-bombing our islands rendering them uninhabitable, used us as guinea pigs, made us pathetically depended on him, and then invited us to come to America. So, here we are! Whether you like it or not, that is your problem.

Me Lom Me Lom (Nostalgia)

I was living on my island. No worries at all.

I grew up on taro, breadfruit, coconut, noni and afuch and I was sated.

Fish was plentiful and they splashed and frolicked in my back yard - the lagoon.

There was never any need for refrigeration as everything was picked or caught only when ready to be consumed.

O, but we preserved breadfruits that became the scrumptious “maar”- the food of the gods.

I was never sick as there were never any plague, STD’s, hepatitis, cancer, diabetes or AIDS.

I didn’t have Ibuprofens and Acetaminophens, insulin and metformin or any dialysis equipments. And I didn’t need them. I found remedies all around me.

I was a star pupil even though I did not read any textbook, write any essay or learn Spanish, German, Japanese or English.

I never learned geography but I could easily name every pieces of rock and sea mounts between Mili and Tobi.

I never had any compass or navigation instruments. “Apiileng” was my chart, the stars, the winds, the waves and the drifters, my instruments.

I never learned meteorology but I could accurately forecast rains and squalls and changes in weather without the aid of any satellite image.

I never had any radio or cable TV but I could get news and information from dreams, from signs and symbols in driftwood, from sightings of unusual fish or birds, from thunders, and from the century-old oracles.

I didn’t go to any court and didn’t need any lawyer to advise and rob me blind. The traditional chiefs were the judges, the mediators, the conflict resolvers and peacemakers.

I didn’t need a belt and tie as I never needed trousers and suits. I was most comfortable in a “weiweita” and in my birthday suit.

I never relied on fossil fuels to power my boat. Instead of gasoline, my canoe ran with the wind and on harmony and sweat.

I never heard about sea-level rise due to global warming. I walked and fished the reefs during low tides and I was never aware that someday my island will be underwater as a result of someone else’s poor stewardship.

I was happy and carefree. I enjoyed life without any reservations. Nobody told me it was a sin to have everything and enjoy them, too. And nobody ever told me that all good things must, sooner or later, come to an end.

And then . . . a large boat with many white sails appeared on the horizon.

And the beginning of the end came upon the Mortlock Islands.

Suun Namukuk

Safe in a cocoon of sand and darkness;

away from the unrelenting whispers

of the blood-lust 'quitoes, in the stillness,

at Meseniang, I was lulled by the deafening sounds of the Pacific rollers.

I stared up the dark sky and marveled at Creation,

Thinking. In the overall scheme of things, I’m so insignificant.

O Universe, from eternity to eternity, what majestic domination!

Your stars, countless, are only points through a mariner’s sextant.

And O what beauty! Like diamonds on black velvet, they shimmered

And glittered and pulsated in harmony though it was in chaos.

From Dusk to Dawn, they followed in the shadow of Helios-the revered.

But Fuuesemwakut, sentinel, yearned to be with the Southern Cross.

Machemeas, in her splendor, its radiance and warmth, the night felt.

The procession, from east to west, never pau

The celestial ballet by Uul and Orion’s belt

Up at the dark canopy of Apiileng - the chart of Doctor Mau.

What Do You See?

Your perception of whether the glass of water is half-full or half-empty very much determines who you are as an individual in relation to the world around you. Experts will tell you that if all you see is a half-empty glass, then you are a pessimist and you have a tendency to view things in a negative light and as a consequence, you will fail. On the other hand, if you see a half-full glass, then you are an optimist and you have a can-do attitude that can make a great impact on your life and on the lives of those around you.

As for me, I see a  glass that contains 1/2 water and 1/2 air. Technically, that glass is full. So, what does that make me?