Ka’u’s Writing

My Favorite Place – Secret Beach

Secret Beach in Kihei is my favorite place to be. Here I can see the little sand crabs scouring around like mice searching for food in the dark of the night. I can see my boyfriend as relaxed as a woman fresh out of the spa and the ocean as calm as the breath of a sleeping baby during its afternoon nap. I can hear the continually flowing ocean, the muted voices of beach goers enjoying the peace and the whipping Kona winds of Kihei. I can feel his calloused but comfortingly warm fingers intertwined with mine, the small grainy sand and the cool, renewing water. While I lay in the sand, sun and enjoy the company of my friends. I can see, I can hear, I can feel in my favorite place Secret beach in Kihei.

Meditation on a Shell

As I gaze into the spotted design of the shell

First it is a jaguar sleeping peacefully curled up like a house cat

And then it is the ferocious mouth of the Venus Fly Trap catching its supper

And then it is a Christmas ornament suspended from a tree

And then it becomes a small mouthed fish swimming with the force of the current

And now it is a bird with its head tucked under his wing to shield itself from the elements

And now it is a door knob, an entrance to an adventure hiding behind it

And now I am an adventurer

A Play Without an Audience

The sun has set and the moon and stars have taken their place in the dark night sky. I lay cuddled in bed with blankets and close my eyes to drift off to sleep. As I drift away a whole new world opens up to me. From the black vastness comes light filled with magical stories of sparkling vampires, spell casting wizards and trips across the sea. The sights that fill my head rarely remain the same, each time I close my eyes a new experience awaits me. Tonight I am a princess in a land far away ruled by my father to be handed down to me, while other nights have not been so sweet. My head filled with scary thoughts of fire breathing dragons or being swallowed whole by giant fish of the sea but in the end the dreams are just dreams and the next morning I am always set free. I open my eyes and stretch from my position to the sound of my beeping alarm. Now the moon has set and the stars have gone, the sun is out and today is another day to be awake and breathing.


I miss the days of my childhood. The numerous days filled with playing and only playing, no chores or homework to worry about, no responsibilities or places to be; the days that you could only describe as carefree. It was easy to be a kid, running around freely without a care in the world. How little we had to worry about when we were in our Monkey Pod tree, at home in the kitchen, or at grandpa’s house.


I remember the days when we swung from the branches of the old Monkey Pod tree pretending to be the monkeys we’d seen in the zoo; the thought that we looked silly never crossed our minds. We didn’t care about any one else’s opinions unlike the girl’s of reality TV shows like Laguna Beach. Broken nails may have made us cry but it didn’t stop us from climbing more. We were enjoying ourselves with no other care in the world. The rough bark of the tree left our hands RED, raw and forming blisters but we continued swinging and climbing; sore hands were nothing mommy couldn’t fix later. All the neighborhood kids would play on the tree together. We didn’t fight much and if we did it was usually about who had to be “it” first for tag. In our tree we forgot about any other obligations our parents may have given us. It was our place of sanctuary even though we didn’t have much to run from.


One by one the neighborhood kids headed home for dinner, me and my sister raced each other down the big hill towards mom’s its-dinner-time voice calling us in from the days play. The grass scratched our legs as we tried to run as quickly as we could. All the playing had distracted us from our hunger until we sat in our seats to see a plate full of chicken nuggets ready made for us. All of a sudden we were famished. So we sat quietly and ate our chicken nuggets with our hands, never pausing to think about germs, manners or our prayers. I loved dipping the nuggets in to the creamy ranch dressing, it always made the nuggets taste cool and less salty. The country music mom loved surrounded my ears and my body swaying slightly with the beat flinging chicken nugget crumbs everywhere. I would jump from my chair, throw my empty-all-except-for-the-crumbs plate into the sink with a loud “clank” for mom to wash later.


But nothing compared to being at grandma and grandpa’s house. Grandpa’s house was b i g and full of things to explore and he didn’t mind you being niele, like mom did. You could do anything your mind could possible imagine and you wouldn’t get in trouble either. Riding our two-wheeler bikes up and down the private road without looking both ways for cars or buses was our favorite thing to do. If the right aunty or uncle happened to be working today we dropped our bikes wherever we were and ran to them to go get the candy they always had just for us. But no candy compared to the savory taste of grandpa’s mangoes picked fresh from our tree and the feeling of the sticky juice covering my face and hands. There was so much to do that we kept ourselves busy and by the end of the day we were worn out. Rolling around on the ground with the dogs down the grassy hill in my Sunday’s best always left my skin itchy but it was nothing out of the ordinary. If anything grandma would wash my clothes till there was not one grass stain left and mom would never know. I had my own room in papa’s house because I was the favorite grandchild; being first born was a special privilege you didn’t have to earn. Grandma and grandpa spoiled me and being spoiled meant never having to worry about cleaning up my messes or making my bed, and that grandma would do it all for me.


In the Monkey Pod tree, at home in the kitchen and especially at my grandparent’s house there was nothing to worry about. Responsibilities were few when you were young. I would come home stained brown from head to toe with the soil that housed our tree’s roots, leave a mess in the kitchen, or even spend the whole day playing at grandpa’s house. As I child my life was filled with about as much cares as a caterpillar and that’s just how I liked it.

How to Survive this Class

First sign up for an art or hula class but when you get your schedule see that you’ve been put in Creative Writing instead. On the first day of class break your laptop and turn it in to the office. Handwrite all assignments including your novel. Forget your novel at home the next class. Start all over.

Fall asleep during the 25 minutes of focused writing time but make sure to wake up five minutes before times up to speed write at least one paragraph. Or you could use the 25 minutes to finish up the homework you forgot about to have ready to share. Use the warm-up time to wake up from your nap if you took one or to learn how to play new games that you’ll probably never play again. And when it comes time for partner sharing pick a partner who you think is a better writer then you so you won’t have to read your piece to the class. After ever reader finishes say “Whoosh” and go “1, 2, 3 whoosh” while clapping 3 times then making a hand gesture like a wave rolling on the sand.

When the pieces have all been read and it’s time to vote for the best piece for the “I Like That” page make sure one person always forgets to vote. When Ms. Haina asks who didn’t vote insist that everyone voted but do a revote anyway. When she gives you time to email your piece for the blog first check your email, update your twitter and post a new facebook status then email your piece quickly.

 At 2:25 start packing up loudly while Ms. Haina says “Is it time already?” Put up your chair and stand in a big group by the door and have a conversation about whatever happens to come up that day. Make sure the conversation is loud enough to imply school is almost over and we’re excited. Stare at the freedom giving clock until 2:29. Then who ever is closest to the door should grab the door handle and do a twist-the-knob-but-don’t-actually-open-the-door move and glance at Ms. Haina while she waits till the second hand reaches the 12 to release the class. When she does exit the class hastily and forget about any and all assignments till the lunch before class. Repeat until semester is over.

Kulia I Ka Nu`u

The mountain stands before my feet

I glance at the summit hidden behind the clouds

My goal out of sight but I know it’s within reach


The first step is the hardest, I quiver with fear

But I take the plunge, reach for the rock and grab on tight

Inch by inch, rock by rock, I make my way up


Things get tough, hands get raw, rocks fall down

My energy’s depleted but I continue to strive

Push the pain away and focus on my goal


I’m closer every second, with every step I take

I know I’ve gotten close, I can feel the sticky wetness of the clouds

It’s harder to see yet I persevere, feeling for the next rock


I grasp it and I pull myself up

I’m no longer surrounded by the clouds but above them with the sun

I’ve reached the summit, my goal accomplished


Kulia I Ka Nu’u

Strive for the summit


He Made a Mistake

He made a mistake; he didn’t mean to hurt her.

He broke his own heart

What a terrible lesson to learn,

But that was just the start.


He broke his own heart

Tore it apart piece by piece

But that was just the start.

For he believed he was getting what he deserved.


Tore it apart piece by piece

He ripped his apology to shreds

For he believed he was getting what he deserved.

All good things must come to an end.


He ripped his apology to shreds

Instead he simply wrote a song.

All good things must come to an end

He said, although still clinging to hope.


Instead he simply wrote a song

What a terrible lesson to learn

He said, although still clinging to hope.

He made a mistake; he didn’t mean to hurt her. 

A Reflection on Frost’s “The Road Not Taken”






There have been times where the path was not clear

You were given a choice, a chance to veer

Both choices lead different ways, you thought long and hard

Knowing the choice you make will affect the rest of your days


Today you stand at another path with another choice to make

Which will you choose to take

But remember to think long and hard

For whatever path you take will affect you until your last day


Your last day will come, when you may or may not know it

But on that you’ll remember ever choice you made along the way

You’ll think about how or why you made your choices

And how they affected each and every one of your days


But even when you’re gone your choices will stay

Who knows how or whom they may affect

But I promise that they will

Even if you’re not here to witness it


But don’t get too down

I never once said it’d all be bad

For the choices you’ve made; will make

Could have a postive impact on the rest of someone else’s day.

A Limerick

I once met a pig from Haiku

Every day she ate beef stew
But whenever she ate her snack
The neighbors bees would attack
That strange little oinker from Haiku

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