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`aina based projects

Expectations from the past, expectations of my future, expectations that familiar landscapes like Hawaii will make me feet at home. And it does. And it doesn’t. For obvious reasons- Hawaii is the home for the Polynesian diaspora, but it’s the closest I’ve felt to home. So the story begins here in Hawaii with a scary jungle and a hopeful girl. She thought it would be the closest to home (her Philippines). Confronted by reality, but pierced with mysticism, Hawaii confused her like a distorted dream. She faced life, death, and life again through the plant life and creatures of the lush canopy. She feels death is her neighbor as much as every newborn gecko stuck in its egg. She had to work hard to stay there- an unexpected effort to feel more at home as she desired. Every hair of the jungle brushed against her skin. Sand is black or green or purple at times. The ocean was unforgiving with sharp teeth below every lip of water. The water knew how to choke her with her own long brown hair. Things can poison her. Things can stab the insides of her mouth with a million tiny daggers. Don’t eat that. Don’t touch that. She admired the flowers, but never picked them.

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