A story from Haleʻiwa, Oʻahu He moʻolelo mai Haleʻiwa, Oʻahu

Slowly, on purpose. E mālie, me ka manaʻo.

My mother was late picking me up from school more often than not, and I have never been ashamed of it. Ua hoʻopau lōʻihi koʻu makuahine i ka lawe ʻana iaʻu mai ke kula mai, a ʻaʻole au i hilahila no ia mea.

The morning my daughter Kalei first asked me what we were doing today, she was four years old. I told her the same thing my mother had told me at four: "We'll see what the day gives us." She thought about that for a long time, and then she asked me, very seriously, if the day knew we were waiting.

I grew up on this same coast. My mother was late picking me up from school more often than not, and I have never been ashamed of it. There were things she stopped for that the world's clock did not understand — a fisherman pulling at a tangled line, an aunty who needed a ride home with her groceries, an honu washed up tired on the sand who needed someone to sit nearby until she remembered she could go back to the water. These were not detours. These were the road.

The first time I tried to do it differently with Kalei, I felt the rush of the mainland in my body — the rush I had picked up in college and not yet put down. I had a meeting; she had not finished her shoes; we were late. I picked her up under one arm and carried her, half-laced, out the door. In the car, she was very quiet. Then she said, in the smallest voice: Mama, are we in trouble?

I had to pull the car over. There was no one to be in trouble with. The meeting did not love her. The meeting did not even know her name.

I tied her shoes properly on the side of Kamehameha Highway, with the windows down and the trade wind coming through. We were forty minutes late. The world did not end. The meeting was fine. Kalei has remembered, ever since, that her mother stopped the car so that her shoes could be tied like they mattered.

If you grow up rushed, the rest of your life is spent in apology — for not getting somewhere, for being where you are, for stopping at all. I do not want her to apologise for the shape of her own attention.

She is six now. Last week we found a honu on the sand at Laniākea — tired, breathing slow, a small piece of plastic stuck near her mouth. We sat down at a respectful distance and we did not speak. Kalei pulled her knees up to her chest the way you do when you are willing to be still for a long time. After many minutes, the honu started to push herself toward the water again, and Kalei did not cheer. She did not clap. She had already learned, somehow, that you do not interrupt a thing that is finding its own way.

This is what I want her childhood to be. Not a sprint. Not a curriculum. The reef will teach her some things. The kūpuna will teach her others. The day will teach her the rest, if we give the day enough room.

So we are slow. We are slow on purpose. We are slow because the islands, if you listen, are slow with you.

Some mornings she still asks me what we are doing today. Sometimes I have an answer. Most mornings I do not. I tell her again: "We'll see what the day gives us." She is old enough now to know that the day knows we are listening.

He pālapala mua kēia. This Hawaiian translation is a working draft pending review by an ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi educator. Hale Moʻolelo publishes finalised translations only after review.

I ke kakahiaka mua a koʻu kaikamahine ʻo Kalei i nīnau mai ai iaʻu i ka mea a mākou e hana ai i kēia lā, ʻehā ona makahiki. Ua haʻi aku au iā ia i ka mea hoʻokahi a koʻu makuahine i haʻi mai ai iaʻu i koʻu wā ʻehā: "E nānā mākou i ka mea a ka lā e hāʻawi mai ai." Ua noʻonoʻo ʻo ia no ka manawa lōʻihi, a laila nīnau mai ʻo ia, me ka maopopo, inā ua ʻike ka lā e kali ana mākou.

Ua ulu au ma kēia kahakai hoʻokahi. Ua hoʻopau lōʻihi pinepine koʻu makuahine i ka lawe ʻana iaʻu mai ke kula mai, a ʻaʻole au i hilahila i kekahi manawa. Aia kekahi mau mea i hoʻōki ai ʻo ia, ʻaʻole maopopo i ka uaki o ka honua — he lawaiʻa e huki ana i kona aho hihia, he ʻanakē e pono ana i ke kaʻa hoʻi me kāna mea kūʻai, he honu i pae i ka ʻāina, luhi, e pono ana i kekahi mea e noho mālie a hoʻomanaʻo ʻo ia e hiki ke hoʻi i ke kai. ʻAʻole ia he kāpae. ʻO ia nō ke ala.

I koʻu hoʻāʻo mua ʻana e hana ʻokoʻa me Kalei, ua ʻike au i ka wikiwiki o ka ʻāina nui i loko oʻu — ka wikiwiki aʻu i lawe mai ai mai ke kulanui mai, ʻaʻole i hoʻokuʻu ʻia. He hālāwai kāu; ʻaʻole i pau kona kāmaʻa; ua hoʻopau lōʻihi mākou. Ua hoʻopaʻa au iā ia ma lalo o koʻu lima, kona kāmaʻa hapa-haʻihaʻi, a hele i waho. I loko o ke kaʻa, mālie loa ʻo ia. A laila, ʻōlelo aʻe ʻo ia, me ka leo liʻiliʻi loa: E Māmā, ua hewa anei mākou?

Ua pono iaʻu ke hoʻokū i ke kaʻa. ʻAʻohe mea e hewa ai. ʻAʻole aloha ka hālāwai iā ia. ʻAʻole ʻike ka hālāwai i kona inoa.

Ua nāki au i kona kāmaʻa ma ka ʻaoʻao o ke alanui ʻo Kamehameha, me ka pukaaniani hāmama, a ka makani moaʻe e komo mai ana. Ua hoʻopau lōʻihi mākou no kanahā minuke. ʻAʻole pau ka honua. Ua maikaʻi ka hālāwai. Mai ia manawa mai, ke hoʻomanaʻo nei ʻo Kalei: ua hoʻokū kona makuahine i ke kaʻa, i mea e nāki pono ai i kona kāmaʻa me ke ʻano koʻikoʻi.

Inā e ulu wikiwiki ʻoe, e lilo ke koena o kou ola i ke kala — no ka loaʻa ʻole i kahi, no kou noho ʻana ma kahi i noho ai, no ka hoʻōki ʻana. ʻAʻole au makemake e kala ʻo ia no ke ʻano o kona nānā ponoʻī.

ʻEono ona makahiki i kēia manawa. I ka pule i hala, ua ʻike māua i kekahi honu ma ke one o Laniākea — luhi, hanu lohi, he wahi paʻi pālahalaha kokoke i kona waha. Ua noho mākou ma ke kaʻa wāwae kūpono, ʻaʻole leo. Ua huki ʻo Kalei i kona mau kuli i kona umauma, ke ʻano e mākaukau ana ʻoe e noho mālie no ka manawa lōʻihi. Ma hope o ka manawa nui, hoʻomaka ka honu e koʻi iā ia iho i ke kai, ʻaʻole hoʻoleʻa ʻo Kalei. ʻAʻole paʻipaʻi. Ua aʻo ʻē ʻo ia, ʻaʻole hoʻopilikia ʻoe i kekahi mea e ʻimi ana i kona ala ponoʻī.

ʻO kēia ka mea aʻu makemake nei i kona wā kamaliʻi. ʻAʻole he heihei. ʻAʻole he papa haʻawina. Na ke koʻa e aʻo aku iā ia i kekahi mau mea. Na nā kūpuna e aʻo i kekahi. Na ka lā e aʻo i ke koena, inā e hāʻawi mākou i ka manawa kūpono.

No laila, e mālie mākou. Mālie me ka manaʻo. Mālie no ka mea, inā ʻoe e hoʻolohe i nā mokupuni, mālie pū kekahi me ʻoe.

I kekahi mau kakahiaka, nīnau mai ʻo ia iaʻu i kā mākou e hana ai i kēia lā. I kekahi manawa, loaʻa iaʻu kekahi pane. ʻO ka hapa nui, ʻaʻole. Haʻi hou aku au: "E nānā mākou i ka mea a ka lā e hāʻawi mai ai." Ua nui kona makahiki e ʻike ai: ke ʻike nei ka lā e hoʻolohe ana mākou.

Read Tūtū Mele's story E heluhelu i ka moʻolelo a Tūtū Mele All stories Nā moʻolelo a pau