A New Normal

“Growing apart doesn’t change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I’m glad for that.”
Ally Condie, Matched

Somewhere between then and now, we grew into our new normal… we found a rhythm that works for us. I feel really content with where we are, and where we are headed. Maybe it’s because I’m getting older, maybe it’s because that little girl finally feels the comfort of having her Father. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I love our new normal.

Celebrating my law school graduation with my Father.

Celebrating my law school graduation with my Father.

Just last month, he organized a barbecue at Ala Moana Beach Park to celebrate my graduation from law school. It was the sweetest gesture ever. This was his first time planning a gathering for me. He made a few calls, invited some family members, and gave me specific instructions to bring sausage to throw on the grill. I asked if we needed anything else — a salad maybe? Some rice? Anything? No, he had already designated items to other family members. My job: bring sausage.

It was a beautiful day at the park. Our lives seem to continue crossing at Ala Moana Beach Park — the same park I’ve mentioned in other blog posts. The same place where I met my friends in the “Forest,” the same place where I rollerbladed as a little girl growing up in Honolulu, the same place where I reconnected with “Hobo Bob.” So it was befitting that multiple generations were collectively coming together on the very shores of my childhood, all invited by my father’s direction.

The sky was painted an incredible blue that morning, and everyone brought their appetite. It was quite a fiasco trying to rally all the family members back into one spot to get the barbecue going. The kids were in the water, one of my cousins was fishing with my father at the opposite side of the park, my husband was busy with the kids, and the other family members were busy getting things settled under the tent.

I decided it was a good time to figure out how to operate the grill. I’m a “go-getter.” To my half-sister’s credit, she was somewhat cautious about my approach in attaching the propane canister to the grill. Okay, so maybe I didn’t really know what I was doing… and it wasn’t a good idea to try to flick the igniter while attaching the propane tank — the switch was not a mysterious “lock” to get the tank to screw on.

Thankfully, my husband returned and knew what he was doing. Everyone started to regather around the tent and slowly started pulling out their dishes. We brought our sausage like we were asked. My cousins brought meat as well. And my uncle and aunt… brought meat and a massive tub of kimchee.

Nobody brought rice.

I started to giggle. My husband knew what I was thinking, but didn’t want to say it. Finally I broke the silence and blurted out, “A bunch of Koreans are at a barbecue and nobody brought rice… how are we supposed to eat?”

It was cute. It gave us all something to laugh about together. My father shook his head in disbelief. He went around the circle and asked if they were absolutely sure that he hadn’t asked them to bring rice. This was the first time he had organized a family gathering, and we were all just really proud and happy to be enjoying each other’s company — rice or no rice. I’m glad it happened though… it seemed to break the ice, and helped everyone to feel more comfortable. Who knows, maybe he planned that all along!

The rest of the day was beautiful… the water was perfect for swimming. My father wore regular khaki shorts and shoes. He didn’t have any swimwear with him. I was a little surprised that he would suggest coming to this beach park, and not be prepared to get in the water. And then it dawned on me… I had no recollection of seeing him in the ocean. I had no memory whatsoever of being in the ocean with my father.

How could that be?

We live in Hawai`i. We are surrounded by water. The ocean is such an important part of my life — a source of healing energy, a way to reconnect with myself and my spirituality. I had to take another minute to consider this.

We have to get into the water together.

It took several tries to convince my father that his shorts would dry just fine. We had a paddle board and I begged him to let me paddle him around. I literally broke out into what probably resembled an excited 6-year-old’s dance. I hopped up and down, clapped my hands, grinned from ear-to-ear, and pleaded with him…

Please, please, pleaaaase? Pleaaase? I’ve never asked for anything before! PLEASE get on the paddle board with me! You remember what I said about paddling and how it’s been such an amazing heeeealing experience for me? Pleeeeeaaase?”

I think he was enjoying every moment of my desperate whining. He quietly said, “If you keep pushing me, I won’t do it.” And then he flashed a grin. Okay, so I had to be more reasonable. I went to law school. Heck, I graduated from law school. I quickly adjusted to a new strategy…

Dad, we have never been in the ocean together… and who knows when we will have access to a paddle board again? I’ll be really busy studying for the bar exam, so we may not be able to do this again for a couple of months. This is a great time to make new memories!”

Hook. Line. Sinker. 😉

I watched our feet disappear under the sandy shores of Ala Moana Beach Park that morning. The water creeped up above our ankles and then our knees. We shared a smile, and I soaked up the warmth of his skin under my hands. We were connected. With a little encouragement, my father sat on the paddle board and I was able to briefly standup.

Beach Day

There must have been a little confusion about what was going to happen on the paddle board. I thought I was going to be able to “paddle” away with him on it — he thought he was just going to idly “sit” on the board… on the shore. His reaction was darling. As soon as he realized what I had intended, he gripped the sides of the board and jumped off as fast as he could. I was so close!

Even though we weren’t able to leave the shores that day, I am still deeply appreciative for that brief moment we shared as father and daughter. I hope we can someday explore deeper waters. For now, I am loving our new normal… I am loving these moments that continue to unfold with each passing day.

Wishing everyone lots of love and inspiration in this life journey. Hope you enjoyed being able to hear of another “first” I experienced with my father and my family.



Dear Sebastian C.

“I’ve learned to value failed conversations, missed connections, confusions. What remains is what is unsaid, what is underneath. Understanding on another level of being.” – Anna Kamienska

Dear Sebastian,

I noticed you before you noticed me. I saw you sitting on the bench as my husband pulled up to park. Your matted gray hair, the hunch in your back, and the way your head rolled in small circles reminded me of someone from a recent past. You walked towards me, my husband, and my sons. I saw your first step before they did. I could hear you even though they couldn’t.

I will be back. I heard you. I saw you. And I want to help you. I don’t know who your daughters are, or where they are, but I heard you. I am sorry to hear that that officers hurt you, and that you are hurting. No, I don’t think that’s okay. I know you need more than a roof over your head. I know it isn’t easy to hear the “real you” sometimes, and it’s lonely when you can.

Dear Sebastian, I will be back. Thank you for noticing me too.



Rare and Hungry for Love

“Hungry for love, He looks at you. Thirsty for kindness, He begs of you. Naked for loyalty, He hopes in you. Homeless for shelter in your Heart, He asks of you. Will you be that one to Him?” – Mother Teresa

I recently had the honor of flying out to DC for the Rare Under 40 Awards Ceremony. The trip felt like a whirlwind, but I came back home feeling energized and uplifted from meeting so many inspiring souls. I have to admit I felt a little out of my element. I never thought I’d go from sidewalks to a red carpet because of this blog, my photographs, and from simply opening myself to others. I wished it could have been Hobo Bob, Darryl, Brian, Nani, or Roxy on the red carpet instead.


The story of my journey with my father may have captured hearts and souls around the world, but it’s the stories of those who I’ve met along the way that continues to weigh on my heart. There are endless waves of Brian’s, Nani’s, Roxy’s… all lined up alongside fences and scattered throughout parks. So many hearts hungry for love.

“What does that mean, anyway?”

We are all hungry for love… validation of our worth, our dreams, and our hopes. It’s easy to doubt ourselves, to shut people out to protect our hearts, to grow hardened from years of living in fear and uncertainty. The world is full of pain and suffering, but the smallest gesture of kindness can be the spark we/you/I need to preserve the softness in our hearts for others. I was reminded of that during my trip to DC.

I had an interview with Rare correspondents shortly after I arrived, and was running off of about an hour or two of sleep. Needless to say, my responses to the interview questions were brutally honest and I’m not even sure if anyone will ever see it. There were a couple of questions that really left an impression on me:

“In your opinion, what do you believe is the greatest challenge that millennials face today?”

I took a deep breath, thought about it for a second, and said what I felt… I think it went something like this…

“We crave connection. We live in a world where it’s easy to connect through the digital medium, but we’re lacking the human element. The human touch, a hug, holding our hands, holding each other, and being open to loving each other. I think that’s why I like to hug people… especially those on the streets, they all need that fundamental human connection.”

And it goes further… we long for friendship, and to have our hearts be seen. I’ve been reflecting on my past and continuing the journey of self-discovery. I know that in my heart of hearts, I have yearned for deeply connected friendships. Out of fear of being hurt or misunderstood, I know I have pushed people away and opted to stay in my own comfort zone. I would maintain a busy schedule, pour myself into projects, my family, and sometimes use that as an excuse for not investing in people who were trying to invest their hearts in me.

It’s an interesting feeling having so much of my life and my heart written out for others to see. I’m learning to embrace it because it helps me to live a life closer to my purpose. I’m not as afraid of people coming to me, opening themselves in hopes of having a shared connection. It has been an incredibly enriching experience, and I appreciate how much love I’m able to receive because of it. There’s still a lot to work on… on a personal level. There are still loved ones in my life who I want and need to reach out to. Someday.

Which brings me to the second question I was asked in DC:

“How do you stay motivated to do what you do?”

Another honest response… I shared how I wake up every morning with the understanding and acceptance that I will die. My eyes will close and never open again to see this world the way I do today. Knowing and accepting this gives me the strength and serenity to go after my dreams, to follow my heart everyday… to stay open to soul connections with people no matter their circumstances.


As I finish writing this blog post, I’m looking into my father’s eyes reflecting back into mine. Across the way is a homeless man who is suffering from mental illness, he just came by about 5 minutes ago and asked us for food. I don’t know his name, or his past… I don’t know what he is battling, or what kind of pain he is feeling right now. But I hope to find out soon.

My father said to me, “I’m so glad I’m not homeless anymore.”

Yes. Me too. Now it’s time to keep moving forward, and paying-it-forward. I’m sighing deeply this very second. Wishing all the best to you this beautiful day. Thanks for following along and I hope it encourages you to share one act of kindness today.




Derrick – ‘Ōiwi na’u koko ha’aheo na’u koko

Derrick - Kapalama Canal

I met Derrick standing by a bench next to the Kapalama Canal. His deep tan seemed to glow against the reflection of the water.  The air felt clean and my skin was still cool from being at the news station for my morning interview. I glanced at him and made quick eye contact. He was busy talking to someone and our eyes met again — this time I waved at him. He nodded and smiled. I awkwardly introduced myself, almost interrupting their conversation, and sort of back-stepped towards a bench.

I could tell he was curious about me and my half-hearted attempt to say “hello.” I didn’t have any specific plan by being there. I had just left the news station from doing an interview on the Sunrise Show. I felt the pull to drive by the canal. Someone had mentioned that a one-mile fence would be built alongside this canal… another way to address the “homeless problem.”


So, there I was. I wanted quiet. Some “me” time. It is always emotionally draining to expose myself… to be vulnerable to a public audience, even if I’m just sitting under bright lights with a really warm reporter/human-being next to me. It was nice to be outside… a good break from where I had just been. I sat there alone, on the picnic table, and watched people come out of their tents. One lady was preparing her breakfast — it smelled like she was frying up some eggs and sausage. My stomach started to growl. I hadn’t had breakfast yet.

My attention came back to Derrick. His friend was gone and he was standing right next to me. Smiling, he asked what I was doing here.

“Here we go,” I thought.

I was honest. I told him where I had just come from, my journey, and my nervousness about sharing personal details of my life. He listened attentively. Layer by layer, I shared my hopes, my pain and fear. I mentioned how I felt so alone at times. And how I appreciate the quiet and solitude because it is a reminder that I, alone, will have to face my fears and manifest my hopes and dreams into reality. It’s that moment of pause we have in life that gives us the freedom to choose our next step.

Kapalama Canal

A one-mile fence will be built along Kapalama Canal to prevent homeless camps.

I went on to share my thoughts about the money that would be spent on building the fence. I explained my belief that helping isn’t always about spending money. As children, we are oftentimes asked if we want anything… if there’s anything we can buy to make them happy or feel better. And it isn’t necessarily a bad thing to buy a gift or a token of our appreciation. But it is the thought and intent behind it that truly touches the person… touches the child… It’s about love. People want to feel loved, to have someone listen to them and their feelings, and be held when they’re not feeling good. I’m not so sure that building a fence will help the situation.

He shared his own life story — how he had lived a life of incredible financial freedom at a young age. Derrick had money, lots of it, and he blew it all away on the “wrong things” in his early years. He remembers a time when he would drive by homeless people, scoffing at their circumstances and turning away from them — seeing them as failures in life.

My stomach started to growl.

I asked if he was hungry and his response made me laugh. “Girl, I am one Hawaiian braddah, I can always eat.” Thank goodness. I was starving. We walked over to the nearest Zippy’s restaurant and ordered rice, eggs, and portuguese sausage. He liked his rice the same way I did — colored with shoyu and tabasco. Perfect.

We sat by a big window and he shared more about his life and the new perspective and life path he was on. He enjoys helping people. Derrick reflected on a time when he had “everything,” yet he was incredibly unhappy with life. And now at the cusp of being 50 years-old, he has very little in the material sense, but has never felt more content. He is happy. He is learning to be at peace with himself, and being on the streets is part of that journey in helping him to get there.

The journey for Derrick is more spiritual than anything else. He shared the struggles of his father, his family, those who came before him… and at one point he lifted his shirt, revealing a tattoo across his chest that read:

‘Ōiwi na’u koko ha’aheo na’u koko

(Hawaiian by blood, proud by choice)

I grew up in Hawai`i, but cannot claim to fully understand the incredibly deep, interconnected, and enriching history and language of Hawai`i. However, I do have a deep respect for Native Hawaiians, like Derrick, who are part of an ongoing economic, social,  cultural struggle that threatens the cultural practices and way of life of Indigenous Peoples. For those who are interested in learning more, I highly recommend reading “Who Owns the Crown Lands of Hawai`i?”.

He explained that many people living near Kapalama Canal express frustration in wanting a subsistence way of life, but not having the option to. At the same time, there are many who are depressed and need a friend. I realized that Derrick and I were a lot alike in this way… Wanting to be a friend, feeling connected to ourselves by connecting with others, but also appreciating our moments of solitude to recharge and reflect.

I wondered if he was depressed.

I openly shared how, in retrospect, I was depressed while my father was homeless. And how I learned to deal with being alone, compartmentalizing the pain, in order to keep things together in other areas of my life. It was so hard, and I know I’m a different person because of it. I have grown, no doubt, but I have also learned how to approach challenging experiences as an opportunity for growth. And I don’t mind having to push myself… I’m accepting what it means to be uncomfortable.

“Kūlia i ka nu‘u,” he said.

(Strive to the summit)

Derrick acknowledged what I was sharing. I was revealing myself to him — a period of personal turmoil that I really hadn’t broken down yet. It was hard, but I got over it. And that’s really all that mattered. But he didn’t mind listening to the details, watching the layers unfold that morning, as I was fresh from just sharing my story live on-air.

A photograph taken by Derrick of me sitting by Kapalama Canal.

A photograph taken by Derrick of me sitting by Kapalama Canal.

I think he noticed the change in my mood because he abruptly changed my train of thought by mentioning his mother. His mother shared something with him at an early age, and he wanted to share it with me. He asked me to spell out the word “depression.” I said each letter out loud, slowly… Then he asked me to cross out the first “d”, the “e”, and the “i.”


press on

When you take the word “depression,” and you cross out those letters, you’re left with the words “press on.” If you don’t “press on” in life, then the three letters you took out spell “die,” and you will surely “die” because of your depression.

“So, Diana… press on, kūlia i ka nu‘u, strive to the summit” he said.

Yes, Derrick. I will. It has taken me over a week to write this post… I’ve held onto the strength and thoughtfulness of his words… of the life that is woven into his words… It means a lot to me, and now I’m sharing them with you. As I drove away that morning, I felt happier… understood, validated… I smiled knowing that he had helped me, and I had helped him. We saw each other and our hearts nodded quietly as I waved goodbye. It’s never truly goodbye, though. Deep down inside, I know I will see him again.

Wishing you all the best in the journey… until next time…



“Addressing the most needed areas, helping the lowest first.”

Vincent and I taking a moment to capture a photograph together.

Vincent and I taking a moment to capture a photograph together.

A few days ago, I agreed to do an interview with BBC and found myself sitting in the Hawai`i Public Radio station at 9:00pm waiting for a call from London. As I sat and waited for the reporter to ring in, I looked around the room where I “came out” and shared my story for the first time.

The phone rang.

It was surreal to hear the voice on the other end ask questions about my life. We spent nearly an hour talking about life and my personal experiences with my father. What it was like to see him for the “first time,” and what that “first time” really meant. At the end of the interview, I really wasn’t sure what the direction of the story would be. I know it is largely up to the reporters to edit… we shall see.

It was past 10:00pm by the time I walked out of the station. I realized that the last time I made this drive home at night was when my father was still on the streets. As I quietly drove down the street where my father use to sleep, I felt the need to pull over. I pulled the car to the side, in front of a meter, like I had done hundreds of times. And then I walked out towards the doorway where my father slept.

I stood there by myself… soaking in the fluorescent light hanging from the storefront. I raised my fingertips to the sides of the doorway, feeling the roughness of the frame. Slowly, I sunk down to the floor and breathed in my moment of solitude in that doorway.

“He survived… He got out,” I said to myself. 

I said a quiet prayer that night… to the world, to my universe/God/creator. As I got back into the car to drive away, I noticed a man walking towards my direction. He had a bag full of recyclables, just like my father did. I was getting ready to leave, but I felt this pull to stay.

“It’s late… should I stay? Should I go?”

I decided to stay.

Stopping for Vincent

I rolled down my window and waved at him. He looked surprised. I smiled at him and asked if he was hungry — if it’d be alright to hangout with him. He nodded that it was. I sat next to him and learned his name… Vincent. That he has been living on the streets for quite some time, wants to be a marriage therapist to help couples and families with conflict resolution. I could tell that his more recent relationship issues were plaguing his heart, and that he was carrying a painful weight he couldn’t accept.

Vincent gazing at the cars passing by.

Vincent gazing at the cars passing by.

We talked about the society that continues to unfold in front of us, and what that means for the people who live on the streets. I shared my own story with him, and how I feel most “alive” when I’m connecting with others like him. As the night continued, I found myself confiding in him of my own dreams and hopes in this lifetime, along with my doubts and insecurities. He shared his life mantra with me that evening, and I’d like to share it with you…

“I want my life to be about addressing the most needed areas, helping the lowest first.”

Hearing this made me smile. Vincent was kind enough to point out that my life journey was already manifesting this purpose. And then he brought up his desire to be a marriage therapist again. I could tell this was really important to him… And in some weird way, I actually felt like he already was a therapist. We spent over an hour sitting there, counseling each other, sharing our thoughts, sparking a friendship, and appreciating each others’ existence. There is something so raw and true about connecting with an open heart.

As I gave him a hug goodbye and got into my car to drive-off, I looked over at Vincent again. He looked at me, smiling this time, and I said “I know our paths will cross again Vincent — who knows, maybe you’ll be my marriage therapist!” Driving away was always the hardest part, and it still is in some ways. I don’t ever know if I’ll see these people again… I hold onto hope that our encounters did something good for them, the way it did good for me. So the journey continues…



Road Tests and Second Chances

Dad Passes Road Test

I started off the morning with my Dad at the Dillingham DMV, shuffling through paperwork to get him ready for his road test. The last time I had been to a DMV for a road test was when I was 16 years-old. My best friend’s mom (now mother-in-law) was with me on my third attempt at passing the test. She was (and still is) such a sweetheart. Even after failing the test twice, she continued to encourage me, and shared that it took her kids more than one attempt to pass. I’m not even sure if that’s true or not, but it meant everything to have her support and patience. It felt good to have a mother-figure around…

I thought about my own experience as I shuttled by Dad around at the DMV. I anxiously watched my Dad engage with the check-in receptionist and road test examiner. A part of me wanted to talk to the receptionist for him, but I forced myself to take a backseat and let him do it. He gave her the license and registration, insurance card, and confirmation e-mail I had printed out for him. We walked over to an empty bench and I playfully shared my experience in failing the test. I think it was my way of reassuring myself that it would be okay if he didn’t pass for whatever reason. My heart smiled knowing that we were creating another memory together — making up for a missed opportunity.

His name was finally called and I jumped up closely behind him as the examiner ushered him to the parking lot. I could feel the butterflies of excitement building in my gut and smiled proudly as he walked towards the car. Wait, maybe we should have practiced in my car? I watched as he fumbled trying to get the automatic door opener to work — crap, the battery was dead on that device, he would need to manually stick the key into the car door and turn it. My Dad looked over at me, and I signaled to stick the key into the door and turn. I quickly signaled again while the examiner had his back turned to me. He got it. Phew.

He drove off smoothly… good, I thought. I sat alone in a metal patio chair left obscurely by the wall and absorbed the scene in front of me. Teenagers were rushing by with their anxious parents, an elderly woman in a wheelchair was escorted into her car, and a man who appeared to be homeless stopped in front of a garbage ban to look for recyclables. The vision of my Dad on the streets flashed back into my mind, as I watched this man pluck out empty cans. He looked up and smiled at me, I smiled back. He walked away towards a friend before I could stop him to talk. Another time, I thought.

So this is what it’s going to feel like when my boys get older and it’s their turn to take their road test. I started to get lost in my own thoughts and didn’t realize half an hour had passed. I got up to see if they had returned, and the car was parked around the corner. As I walked into the DMV, I saw my Dad talked to another receptionist and quickly made my way over. Did he pass? Please tell me he passed!

He passed.

He was beaming, a full ear-to-ear grin. His smile reminded me of my older son’s smile. I gave him a hug and stood back to let him get his paperwork processed and have his photo taken.

God, thank you. Thank you for this moment, for this second chance.

I am so proud of him and still marvel at how far he has come in such a short amount of time. He is slowly taking steps towards becoming independent again, and I feel so grateful to witness his recovery. Miracles do happen, it happens to normal people like you and I.  It happens in the quiet details of life, like passing a road test, sharing a smile, watching someone stand tall again…

As I finish writing this blog post, my heart and mind is connecting with the hundreds of e-mails and comments I have received from people all over the world. People who share similar stories, understand the struggle, have experienced the pain of not having a healthy family or upbringing, and especially those who lost their parent(s) and were never able to have that “second chance.” I want you to know that I truly appreciate your messages and am sending you hope, love, positive and healing energy. Thank you for being part of this journey, for reaching out, for caring, and for allowing your heart to be touched by mine. It means everything to me.



Overwhelmed (in a good way)


I am so overwhelmed by the constant stream of positive and loving e-mails from all over the world. I wish I could respond to each one individually. It means so much to hear from those who have experienced, or are currently experiencing, what we went through the past couple of years.

And at the same, although my story seems to immediately appear as one with a “happy ending,” I do recognize that the road to recovery is ongoing. I keep my fingers crossed that my dad will stay in a “good place.”

I met with my dad earlier today and I asked him about his goals. He is still doing well and following his treatment plan, but I can tell he wants to gain more of his independence again. He wants to work, earn a living, and stand on his own two feet without any government assistance. And I know that he doesn’t want to be in an assisted living environment for the remainder of his life. I want the same for him, yet the memory of him on the streets is still incredibly fresh on my mind — especially with all of the recent news coverage that has been coming out.

We talked a bit more about some short-term goals we could work on. Despite submitting online applications to various part-time jobs, we haven’t heard back from any yet. My dad mentioned his desire to be a taxi-driver again. It made me smile. Several months ago, I wrote about how I’d love to see him smile again… stand tall again, and drive a cab again. It may very well happen… 🙂

I suggested that we go to the DMV tomorrow to setup an appointment for his road test. He has his Driver’s Permit, but has to go through steps to get his license again. I’m really looking forward to it — it’ll be another new experience and memory shared. We’re still taking things day-by-day, and learning what it means to have a relationship and maintain it. It’s sweet and endearing. I’ve learned that we don’t mind sitting quietly together. Sometimes, all we do is eat our food in each other’s presence. We occasionally look up and smile at each other… laugh… and share a few thoughts and then depart with a hug. Other days, he’s in a really talkative mood and asks a lot of questions about my life, work, school. I take it day-by-day and try not to have any expectations. I think that’s what helps to keep us on this path together.

*deep exhale*

All of this is so overwhelming (in a good way). And I continue to be amazed with how small and interconnected my community is. Just the other day, I serendipitously met a woman who turned out to be the owner of the store that my father frequented before he became homeless. She remembered when he was a taxi-driver and witnessed his slow physical and mental deterioration. She also recalled my late-grandmother… It was really hard to share that my grandmother had passed away before my dad got off the streets.

It has truly been a roller-coaster ride and it’s this kind of spontaneous and unexpected occurrence that continues to validate my heart and mind. I am so glad that others have been touched in a positive way, and have reached out to me with their own stories. I spent so much time being afraid and hiding from the reality of my dad’s circumstances… and in my own life… but if you step back and really look at it for what it is, you realize it’s just l-i-f-e and everyone has some painful experience they overcame or are trying to overcome.

We can’t control things even if we want to. People have asked about my thoughts on the homeless “issue,” and I oddly accept that the homeless condition will never completely go away. Life isn’t black and white — there are shades of experiences that people go through. Some will go in and out of homelessness… some will choose to live on the streets, others may be incapacitated and require legal assistance and/or medical interventions to get back on track. But no matter what the circumstances are, the most important thing to remember is that they are people. And people deserve to be treated with respect even if they’ve hurt you. Maybe that’s just my way of breaking negative cycles that have been passed down generation to generation.

This life is happening now. We are here now. And I’m really grateful for the opportunity to share positive energy with my dad today.

We do what we can, with what we have, when we have it. Thank you for sharing this life journey with me… keep smiling, keep loving, keep trying to find it in your heart to forgive, and it’s okay if self-preservation means you have to walk away so somebody else can help. Sending my warmest wishes to all the readers tonight.



Little Souls


Hanging out and talking

Hanging out and talking

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about my encounters with some of the children in Kaka’ako and the frustration of not being able to help. A lot has happened since then.

It seems like my universe has been throwing words and signs of caution as I continue to visit Kaka’ako. For a variety of reasons, my friends and family have shared their concerns for my safety. I understand. The most recent news of a Hawai`i legislator being a “victim of ‘gang-style’ attack” is reason to be concerned — I get that. But I feel an incredible tug to visit the kids I have gotten to know in the area.

I drove through Kaka’ako this morning with my trunk full of books, donated by a friend from Read Aloud America. Instead of parking in my usual spot, I decided to drive into the back area so I could unload the books closer to their tents. A couple of kids recognized me, so I decided to pull over onto the side of the road. As I passed out the books, I noticed a little boy I hadn’t seen before. He had a slender frame, dark tanned skin, and beautiful little eyes that sparkled with curiosity. I asked if he would like to have some books to read, and he immediately crawled up into the back of my SUV and started to dig through the pile. I smiled.

After the older kids had walked off, it was just my new little friend and I sitting in the back of my SUV.  I learned that he was 4 years-old, loved to eat candy, knew his ABCs, and wanted to go to school. Our conversation was interrupted when a tent close-by erupted with shouting. I looked over towards the tent and saw a woman yelling at a younger girl. I asked my little friend if he knew who they were.

“That’s my mom and my sister.”

I felt for his sister. She slouched into her chair, trying hard to keep her tears in, trying desperately not to fight back even with her mother yelling, spitting, and pushing her around.

I looked over at this beautiful little soul sitting next to me and said, “I’m sorry little guy.”

I asked if he knew where his father was, and he responded, “He’s in jail.”

Picking books to read

Picking books to read

My heart sank. I could see at this point that the argument and fighting was escalating fast so I decided to take the boy towards another tent where his friends were. As I ushered him towards another tent, a law enforcement vehicle drove straight towards the mother and daughter. I let go of the little boy’s hand and walked towards my car and the officer who had stepped out. The mother and daughter who had been fighting simmered down really fast, and then I realized I was in trouble.

I approached the officer and his first question was: Is this your car?

I answered… Yes, yes it is. I’m just here to pass out books to the kids.

The conversation that followed happened so fast. I wasn’t supposed to be parked on that street. I understood this. And at the same time I had a good reason for it… I couldn’t carry three boxes of books by myself, and thought parking on the side of the street would be fine. I wasn’t going to fight him. If I’m wrong, then I’m wrong… even if I had good intentions.

He asked for my license and registration. As I reached into the car to get my documentation, I kept thinking to myself, “I can’t believe you’re getting in trouble for trying to help these kids… it’s okay… it’s fine…” From the corner of my eye, I could see the mother and daughter sitting quietly in their tent and the little boy standing outside. How ironic.

I shook my head at the circumstances, took a deep breath, and faced the officer with my documentation. He told me that my parking there was only contributing more to the chaos and lawlessness of this area. I understood where he was coming from. I wasn’t upset or angry with him. He was doing his job and having to do these rounds everyday.

Then I started saying what came to my mind…

“I’m sorry… It’s just that my dad was homeless for two years and I still haven’t gotten over it.”

I’m not even sure what I meant by that when I said it to the officer. I just wanted him to know that I was there because of something deeper inside of me. A life experience that was far more meaningful and thoughtful than a parking mishap. I looked into his eyes and stood there quietly for a second. And then I apologized again. This kid over there has no good role models from what I can see. I’ve been spending the past half an hour reading to him and getting him excited about learning to form words.

Then the officer said, “Do you realize how dangerous this place can be?” He went on to explain how assaults and rapes are a growing concern in the area. I acknowledged his concerns. In some quiet way, my universe is gently asking me to be more mindful and careful with how I spend my time in the area. I recognize that there are risks to everything in life. I know that what I’m doing by approaching individuals with substance abuse and mental illness means that I take on a certain level of risk. At the same time I know that I have to trust my instincts and I don’t want to stop approaching them. If anything, I have plans to bridge my legal studies with my homeless outreach through existing organizations in our community so that I am safer.

And yet I know that the “real help” and opportunities for growth happen when I’m out there as an individual, just somebody who cares and wants others to know that I do. These kids are especially hungry for love and attention. They are bored. They are beaten. They witness everything that we see in the news. And yet they are so tenderhearted. I want to help them somehow. I have ideas and am looking forward to forming them.

For now, my heart goes out to the children there. They need more than just books, toys, used clothing, and food. They need love, consistency, stability, role models, stable parents, a home that provides them the security to branch out and discover themselves and the world. I want so much more for them. I think we can figure this out together.




‘Ohana and Kaka’ako

Sam resting in a friend's makeshift shelter in Kaka'ako.

Sam resting in a friend’s makeshift shelter in Kaka’ako.

Some days my Creator/God/Universe seems to speak louder than others. Today has been one of those days. I finished my last law school examination for the semester this morning. I knew exactly where I wanted to be. Kaka’ako. Just last week, I was in Kaka’ako for a Spring Symposium on Homelessness and Policy Change, hosted by the John A. Burns School of Medicine’s Partnership for Social Justice. I was invited to speak and share my candid experiences on trying to assist my father, and the project that I have been working on. It is such a peculiar feeling driving up to a location and passing rows and rows of tents filled with children and families without homes, and then parking in front of them to walk over to an auditorium so I can speak about their social condition.

It was a privilege to be able to share our story, their story. At the same time, I knew I had to drive away that night and I wouldn’t be able to reach out to anyone. So, I’m glad that I was able to spend some time getting to know the families in Kaka’ako again.

Capturing the quiet moment before the JABSOM Spring Symposium on Homelessness and Policy Change.

Capturing the quiet moment before the JABSOM Spring Symposium on Homelessness and Policy Change.

On the drive to Kaka’ako, I thought about Mother’s Day… my mother. And I know that this blog has largely been focused on my father, but I continued to think about the woman who carried me into this world. Although I don’t have a relationship with my mother today, I know that we both love each other. I follow her advice to “do what makes me happy,” and hear her words of support and encouragement. Wherever she is today, I know that she is proud of me and, “as long as you’re happy, I am happy.”

But that doesn’t stop me from thinking about her smile, the shape of her eyes when she laughs, the way our noses crinkle the same way. My Creator/God/Universe must have known that a part of me was longing for my mother this morning because I felt her energy through a woman named “Nani.”

Nani has been sober for a number of years and is currently “in transition,” as she applies for jobs and continues her education/training for better employment opportunities. She is the “Aunty of Kaka’ako” from what I gathered. Humble, focused, caring, and somewhat of a watchdog for the kids in the area. With three children of her own, she prioritizes their education and makes damn sure that the other kids go to school, too. But she also recognizes that she can’t be a parent to all of them, and at some point, the parents need to step up and take responsibility.

My mother was actually the opposite of Nani, but Nani said something to me that really resonated with me this morning. “You are doing what your parents never did for you. You took a different path and you are prioritizing your kids. That’s what I am doing and I am not going to be here forever. By forgiving your parents and me forgiving mine, we make things pono.”

Nani and her close friend looking contemplating the best word to describe their portrait in the polaroid.

Nani and her close friend looking contemplating the best word to describe their portrait in the polaroid.

Life is about making things “pono.” I completely agree with her philosophy and approach in life. Nani’s focus and determination is infectious… even to me. She is a great example of someone who is on the streets due to economic circumstances, and intends to get a better paying job so that she can have a better living situation. In her own words, she said that Kaka’ako is a village. People do help each other out, try to maintain respect and civility, but things can get out of line just like anywhere else. She tries really hard to “keep the peace” and help the children and teenagers, so they don’t run astray. I admire her. And I know I will be seeing more of her when I go back later this week.

As I drove back home, I thought about the interconnectedness of life again. This continuous theme of cause and effect — the people in my life and how our paths cross in ways that magnifies/crystallizes the experience of living. Maybe it’s because I seek it out. Call it an encampment, an eye-sore, a public nuisance, a village, or whatever you want… but, I know that Aunty Nani sees it as family. They’re all families trying to survive.

Amazingly, I checked my inbox right before I started writing this post and received an e-mail from an ongoing supporter of my Kickstarter project. Over the past few months we exchanged a number of e-mails and he shared a bit of his own personal story and dedication for social change. I was touched when he shared that one of his daughters wanted to get a tattoo of the Hawaiian word for family (‘ohana) as a way to remember her ailing grandfather, who has since passed away. It turns out that three of his six daughters decided to get the same tattoo to honor him by.

Again… the interconnectedness and theme of family is so strong here. In the e-mail, he mentioned the part about “Lilo explaining to Stitch that ‘ohana means family and although theirs may be tiny and broken, it is still good.” This resonates with me for a number of reasons. First, because I felt the same way as a child. Second, because that quote was referenced during my Kickstarter campaign when ‘Ohana Health Plan helped to support my project. Life is so intriguing when you look for the connections and today’s experiences continue to reaffirm my path.

With the permission from my friend from Canada, here is a photograph of the tattoo that three of his daughters got together in honor of their late grandfather.

With the permission from my friend from Canada, here is a photograph of the tattoo that three of his daughters got together in honor of their late grandfather.

Thanks for reading… Looking forward to sharing more as I continue the journey.



A Time to Rest

“Home is a notion that only nations of the homeless fully appreciate and only the uprooted comprehend.” – Wallace Stegner

I’m in the middle of finals week at law school, but I wanted to take a break to share what has been going on in our world. As the legislative session comes to an end, I am reminded of how public policy shapes and impacts our everyday lives. I had a conversation with my dad a couple of weeks ago about the “criminalization of homelessness,” and I have to say that I agree with his position on this issue. Rarely do we hear from the individuals who directly experienced homelessness and suffered from mental illness. I am so proud of him and his ability to articulate how these laws impact the homeless. The homeless are human. It is so important not to forget that.

I was at Costco this past weekend and ran into my former landlords. They ran up to my husband and I, smiling and waving at us with their two daughters. It was great to see them and I was surprised when they brought up the photo essay that was published last month. The wife shared how her view of the homeless changed because of what she read and the dramatic changes she saw in my dad after he was able to get treatment. God, I live to hear that… truly. It made me teary-eyed hearing her reaction. It’s this kind of support and feedback that reaffirms my path in reaching out to the homeless. And I am even more grateful for the fact that my dad is still doing well today.

I’ve been keeping a record of all the people who have e-mailed and shared their own stories of loved ones on the streets/forests/beaches of Hawai`i and am looking forward to finding them. I do believe that in every person is a soul and being that deserves respect. They may not have made the best decisions in life, or even be in a physical/mental position to make good decisions… but, they are human. Thank you to everyone for continuing to follow the journey. See you after Finals Week!

Big hugs,