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Hello, I am Samishigariya (or Sam for short; she/her) and I love to bike.

When I ride, I see the world fast and small. I drink winds as I sing while pedaling (“Don’t look back in anger” or “Sunny side of the street” allow max wind intake). When I first moved to the island, I’d come out for a ride whenever it sun-showers (which means drizzles without clouds). The drops feel so good! The touch, the sound when it hits the road, the sight of tiny splashes on the handlebars…

Ah, how do you express your true self? Sorry if I sound confusing, I have a lot to improve on communicating what I really mean in understandable ways to other people. Thank you for letting me clarify this aspect about my natural personality. To make myself more understood, I want to tell you a story, but it will take some time; I’ll make a fire, let’s sit.

One day I was riding to the grocery store on the windward side of the island, the third store that day. I was collecting ingredients before picking up my grandma at the airport. The previous two stores on the leeward side didn’t have some of the vegetables and spices from her list.

After 4 years of saving money and waiting for pandemics and wars to be over, I finally bought a ticket for grandma to visit me in my new home on Big Island, and help me take care of my newborn. My grandma was my main caretaker from when I was born (I spent more time with her than with my mom because mom was working 80 hours a week) but we have grown apart since I left home 5 years ago. Grandma spends a lot of time cooking for the family but she never writes down the recipes (maybe because chinese characters still take lots of brain power, plus she’d only self-taught it later in life?). On one of the trip-planning calls (when I had a spontaneously free late afternoon between my job and fieldwork for the whole weekend – whereas she is always free and eager to pick up) I insisted she write down the recipe for her proudest dish, so we can make it together on our first dinner. But then while riding I came to a revelation and didn’t end up buying those groceries. I am sure it was thanks to the bike ride (maybe the breathing was slower or fuller? Maybe it was realizing that her ingredients are all exotic and hard to find on this island?) that made me remember a very important thing grandma said once when she took me walking in the forest of our old home. Grandma said this —- “people are like the land they grew on, no matter they want to or not, no matter they know it or not.” After thinking as I rode across the interstate highway, I made up my mind that I should not be so stubborn about her list and wait until she comes to welcome her to my land and we (with baby and my roommate) can decide what to make tonight together.

Grandma’s land: Where grandma lived and where she raised me, there is a lake surrounding a forest. Lotus flowers fill the lake. You can see their long roots floating in muddy waters. They took hold of the pond many centuries ago and bloom for years even though each flower only lives for three days. The flowers take turns guarding the people in the forest. The forest houses both graves of ancestors and stone huts that are built to last through generations and fires.

How land shaped Grandma: She got sorted into the ecology group of the village, specializing in fire engineering. She lives in the same compound as her siblings and colleagues. She knows the forest well and she loves the forest. She is frequently in a club for foraging and cooking together. Her favorite tree is the wild cherry because these trees are so delicate, which means their presence proves the forest is rich, tucked in with dead decaying nutritious layers that come with age.

She somehow thinks that love and thoughts are as concrete as a fire. If a question is open (to air) and relevant enough, it would percolate throughout the forest – you’d naturally think about it all the time even when you are in other places. she can’t stop thinking about me and she always felt like the love was growing and increasing. Yet showing love is supposed to be hard. she feels loving when she can fully pour her emotions and focus into a moment. The lack of distance between us, and from her to this tangible language of service. But it was not excellent choreography, because good stories require some cold distance, removal.

My relationship with grandma:

We used to be best friends. We didn’t understand each other fully but we were so in love. Our biggest gap was about music and other creations; she believes honing simple principles is way more profound and sophisticated than using superficial gimmicks whereas I'm more all over the place. I am envious she honed one career without hesitating on her choice. I got really sensitive when she said one time to my commune idea: “ i'm summarizing coz it wasn't clear for me what the main point you were trying to give. you start with A, then gave some plots with technical knowledge i understand nothing, then move back to B, then to A again” I learned that she was right, I had to iterate out my decisions instead of pondering and fine-graining in my head. “Started with 8 people, police came in and evicted everyone. BUT they didn't bring in enough shit so they didn't get them out. (This was like 20 years ago). Then they went through a more legal method -> AND got them legally kicked out, but at that point they had bought themselves 3 years bc that's how long the proceedings took. And the community was SO established that the judge was like -> you gotta do some good shit with that property, and they weren't actually kicked out.” that hard lesson was what brought me and my baby to this island.

5 years ago we separated. I separated from her. Grandma is secretly sad about our difference, I know she wants to live closer to me now that her and mom are not so good with each other. I don’t think about her as much so I am secretly glad that we have some distance. but also I anticipate becoming sad as my kid grows up.

My land:

I’ve been floating around in my five years away from home. Even the island I live on now, I chose here because it’s unpredictable when sunshowers will turn into hurricanes, and where sandy beaches transition into misty ridges. I am doing fieldwork at the university here. I found a description of my land from a novelist called Olga Tokarczuk. She wrote almost a prophecy for me:

“Any place with crisp soil that has high sand content, the people born there are not tall, their skin is pale and dry. At first glance they seem unassuming, as if they can be blown away by the wind, not persistent. But they are like sand — stubborn, and like pines that grow in sand — good at protecting their life. They are skeptical, they don’t believe what others see as stable and reliable. They can smell the future. They have a flaw, that is to not fill promises, because they think everything is so impermanent, changeable. The person who fulfils a will is not the one that made the will. They gave birth to many short pale children like them. The kids mature quickly, leave their parents without tears, send a hello postcard on holidays. These people have no belonging, what is important to them is what is to happen. The things that have happened, those are dead and disappeared things.”

How land shaped Me:

I started remembering how I felt in those first 4 years alone. I felt lost, scared by people (friends) but safe, guided, connected with a tulip and many plants. I want to understand this emotion, of “other people are scary but worth it.” On the days leading up to my planned escape from home, I had a recurring nightmare. There was a big mushroom trying to absorb me from my stomach. To add another person’s world onto, into my world. To add another person onto, into me —- It feels impossible, I have a strong repulsion. I am not used to it.  Because since I was born, I have never brought a friend home. I am scared of my personal life being disturbed. When I feel even a slight imperfection in the vibe, I am anxious. To fix it, I ask the partner to teach me about something. That is a compliment. Any problem in a conversation is always my fault. To intersect worldviews, I have to not imagine how they are in my head but actually see the real them.

And really I was not scared of people, I was scared of myself. That made me loneliest. “I still feel like I am sinfully flawed sometimes, like I have to hide my ugliness to not gross out other people. I thought people tend to get away from sick or bad people because they are dangerous or unsettling, and I didn’t want to disturb people.”

My fear percolated to my relationship with my grandma. I didn’t know we can understand each other. What holds me back is: “Why would people aim toward life-long relationship, when there is likely so many hurt, jealousy, betrayal, deception that will arise?” I ask that to my dad, partly because his relationships seem filled with these bad vibes. I thought we would have such different views on relationship, that he would not understand me and me, him. I recall the hurtful ways he treats waiters, his coldness toward grandma, his cheating, his transactional relationship with my step mom, the cliche of the country boy turned rich man with a harem. But to me he is this really good at listening mentor figure. Back to my question —— His response is surprisingly thoughtful and liberal: assume the world is and always will be populated with problems. On that basis, pursuing your desires should no longer depend on normative ideals about a problem-less world or the potential of problems arising (the answer is they will no matter what).

I think people can only play and be happy when they they don’t think they need to fight more to survive. Grandma and I have different imaginary survival threats. For her it’s growing roots and having full stomach. For me it’s what others see and how fast everything changes.