Celestial Journeys: Gifts from Way Beyond
Medium: Digital, Pointillism, Mixed Style
I'd like to close with a short story that talks about our art collective and the love and joy that we create together. Though this story does not call on grief, it shares how we (re)member and gather in Queer CHamoru diaspora. How we plant new roots everywhere we go. How we celebrate our collective genealogy to our archipelago, the Marianas Islands, and how we find healing in our community. As an aspiring Queer CHamoru social work scholar I always hope that people are able to learn from my writing and other forms of expression. If there is anything I want readers to take away from these Puti'on Stories, is that in intense moments of grief, we as Gela', Tinalao'an, Mamflorita, Manmalalahi, and Machom can recover and find healing from colonial violence and trauma. It offers us a way of knowing masked by colonialism. A path to futurity that pushes us to grow connections among our intimate relations. A path to futurity that brings our Queer and Transgender ancestors into anti-colonial futurity. Let intense grieving be a canoe to take us on that journey.
My mother was not Indigenous, and I often had to get many teachings about being CHamoru from my Grandparents and the many Aunties and Uncles I have met in community. I learned so much and received unconditional love as a Queer CHamoru artist from my musical kin Jessie Bais, Ruby Santos, and Patrick Palomo. I learned through my grandfather and through my music that Inafa'maolek was a way of being for CHamorus that allowed us to keep good relations with each other. To support each other through the violence of colonization. To ensure that everyone belonged, that everyone had a place in our society, and that everyone contributed to our collective wellbeing. Through practices with my chosen family here in Seattle and with community I have been able to grow from the collective grief I have experienced in my life. I know that there will never be a true moment where grief is not present, where it is not haunting me and reminding me of my purpose. But I want to make sure that whoever reads this knows that grief like stars can take us to a place of gathering. It is a canoe that can guide us towards a place to share joy, to find safety, to find connection, to find belonging, and to grow happiness. That is what this final short story embodies. How our collective griefs led us to this space.
Before we continue I wanted to say thank you for witnessing my collection of works. I hope that this was as healing for you as it was for me. Although I agree with my aunt, that there really is no "healing" from grief persay, I do believe there is a futurity where we can learn to co-exist with it. That we can learn to live with it again. A point where grief, pain, and joy become lovers. May they be promiscuous lovers. May they meet at a point where we intensely dream up and imagine Queer CHamoru futurity.
Biba Mes CHamoru!
“Biba! Na’la’la Mes CHamoru” we shouted at the top of our lungs as we surrounded the foods we gathered around!
It is Mes CHamoru 2023, a time to celebrate and to honor traditions. It was time for me to continue a tradition with my family. I made a proper Sunday family dinner (even though we had it on Saturday) for our Guma', our gela’ familian-måmi. I get home from Costco and Uwajimaya and lay out my ingredients. I cut beef, onion and garlic, then sear the the meat and saute my aromatics. I combine all of my ingredients and began to stew the beef for the kadun pika…
I haven’t made food for this many people in a long time…
This recipe was something mom and I experimented with in the kitchen since we shared a love for this spicy, salty, and sour CHamoru treat at Terry’s often. I’ve changed the recipe since, but only to get it as close to that nostalgic taste as possible. So that I could share that flavor, this love my mom and I shared, with my future lovers, family, and friends…
I threw the pot into the oven to braise the beef until it fell off of the bone. I started prepping the broccoli, crab, and waterchestnuts for our salad. It is a salad typically made for gatherings like fiestas, rosaries, and nobenas. So’le and Lourdez arrived and greeted Marie and I with a friendly “Hafa gay!”. They brought kitkats as a sweet chesa and Calpico and roll cakes for desert! …
We say “Hafa gay” to remind ourselves that Gela’ belong in this space. This home we have created for ourselves. So’le and Lourdez are tired from the day. They both sat and rested a bit in my living room. I continued to combine the ingredients for broccoli crab salad…
So’le got up and asked for the ingredients to start the keleguan, they’re mom’s recipe is the best. There is something comforting when the taste of chicken, onion, coconut, and lemon touch the tip of your tongue. Something that reminds of you of every family party you’ve ever been too. I begin to prep my aromatics and smokey meat for my red rice. I only had Japanese sausages in my fridge so that is what I used. We combined the ingredients. Red rice is best made with stock, some people prefer the flavor of chicken bouillon. I am terrible at making red rice so So’le took over. They reminded me that red rice takes a close eye and a lot of care. You have to watch it and stir it every once in a while so it doesn’t burn at the bottom of the pot. Though we reminded ourselves that some Aunties, Mothers, and Nanas love the donkgas bits…
Cooking made me remember those Sundays spent at Grandma and Grandpa’s house on the beachside in Tamuneng. I’d spend the whole afternoon marinating meats, prepping fish, and preparing the fire pit for my cousin Ed and my brothers to barbeque. I’d husk and grate coconuts for keleguan; chopped tons of onions, garlic, and scallions the CHamoru trifecta; mixed two kinds of fina’denne’, one with vinegar one with lemon, and I would watch my Grandma’s caregiver make the red rice. Checking cans to make sure they weren’t expired since Grandpa kept them often far past their expiration date, a manifestation of his trauma from the war and occupation…
As I got older and my Grandpa could spend less time in the kitchen, we often made the family meals together. My Mom would make a green salad. She often made her own dressings with robust flavors that reminded her of home. My uncles and aunts would bring starches and deserts from elite bakery, ube and plain dinner rolls, pies galore! We would always gather as a family. It’s like we have forgotten how to grieve together, to have joy together in spaces in our hearts filled with hurt, death, and loss…
Pain from the war and occupation; the pain and challenges that came after Grandma had a stroke; the passing of Uncle Ed, Grandma, and My Mom; …
Perhaps it is that we have all just gotten older and this space of gathering has slowly shrunk in size. My Grandpa still always makes enough food so that if someone ever wants to come home and they are hungry that they have a seat at the table. It is rare for him to tell us our friends cannot join us for these dinners…
It is now time to pass these traditions down to our new families. Gathering around food, talking story, spending time with lovers, cousins, siblings, parents, grandparents, and ancestors. We filled his home with so much joy and light. Now it is time to start these traditions with our families…
They are my kin even though our lineage is not from same clan (though some of us are). We connect through water, through air, through land, through our geneaological connection to our ancestors who have inhabited the Marianas for over 4,000 years. Our roots run deep into our lands and oceans, we extend into the sky reaching for stars like the ranches of a tree as we take our journeys into the world. Creating new homes, sharing these relations with others. We stay tethered even though wind and storm stronger than a super typhoon attempt to blow us away and disconnect us from our roots…
Elyse and Carlana arrive! We give them a friendly “Hafa Gay!” They are new to our group and it’s the first time they are hanging with us! We invited Nancy, Eve, and Tor but they were unable to make it. We try to gather all of our relations. They brought shrimp patties and beer! Our fiesta table was almost complete. I take the Kadun pika out of the oven as Marie cuts the green beans. My mom always added something green to kadun pika and estufao. It adds an extra bit of water to the kadu to balance its flavors and forces us to eat our vegetables. Roldy arrives just as I finish up the kadun pika! “Hafa gay!” We say to them. Our fiesta table is complete, we say words of gratitude and we eat…