In this writing through my pule (prayer)
I have wrapped and bound every word.
In the middle of the Hawaiian chain is an isolated island we refer to as the piko, like the belly button, because it is the center of Hawai‘i. This is Molokai, the axis, where it all begins. This is the island where my husband was raised and where we were married. My stories begin here. In my marriage, I would have six children: four sons and two daughters. As I began this work, I realized I could only be myself. I learned to listen and more—to show respect for what I could not understand or question.
Many of these stories have never been told, and to this day, Molokai remains an island of seclusion and mystery. Once a Hawaiian woman spoke to my husband on an evening filled with crimson and gold light. She whispered as she leaned into his ear. “Brother, when you go Molokai, you must remember…walk softly and talk softly.” She disappeared, dissolved into the crowd; no one knew her or saw her again. She was ‘Uhane, a spirit with a message. In these stories, I aim to walk and talk softly, especially with the words I compose honoring Molokai. With respect and love to this island and to our family, I will strive to do my best to honor both with aloha.
