About the Book

There she goes again, Noelani talking to herself; she was a homeless person wandering the streets of the Honolulu Arts District, walking and talking out loud. She’s a regular in Chinatown, never bothering anybody and keeping to herself. Sometimes folks would buy her something to eat like a manapua, and she’s always graceful and thankful.

Then there are these teenage skateboarder kids in the neighborhood who are always causing trouble and bullying people. Real, local neighborhood punks. Mischievous kids out for a good time hanging around the skateboard park.

Noelani was making her rounds around Chinatown, down River Street, and across to the park, talking out loud like there were people next to her. She rattled on without a care, not paying attention to where she was going. Then she stumbled upon the skateboard park where the skateboarders hang out.

The next day the boys scanned the streets of Chinatown looking for Noelani. Randall wanted his fishing hook bone necklace back. Randall told the other boys, “When I see her, I gonna break her face.” The other boys laughed; “you mean break-face.” “You still a mainlander.” 

The boys asked around town, and some folks say she stays in the park at Smith and Beretania streets. So, the boys skate-boarded to Smith-Beretania Park. They waited until it got dark—still no sign of the talking lady. 

He yells at her, saying he will rip that off her neck. She started talking faster to herself, looking from side to side. Her eyes begin to flutter upwards as she gets into a hula trance, moving with sensual enchantment. She starts chanting in Hawaiian as the mist thickens beside her and surrounds the kids. She fills the park with a thick fog you can’t see from the streets. She magically transforms into an ancient hula skirt and Leis as she dances and chants for her ancestors to appear.

It turns out Noelani is never talking to herself; she’s talking to her ancestors, who walk beside her. We can’t see them until she calls for their help. She wanders these streets because these are the streets that covered up the land that her ancestors lived on. She is the last descendant of her clan. She is stuck between worlds,  searching for the homes of her ancestors that all the buildings in Chinatown have long since covered up. 

Best friends Xiang from China and Kenji from Japan were plantation workers who opened a little food bar in town after their work contracts with the plantations were over. Xiang brought his love of cooking from Guangzhou, Northern China, where his grandmother passed down her special wonton recipe to the family. He got this recipe from Guangzhou and then went to Hong Kong, where the style and ingredients were popular. Eventually, Xiang left Hong Kong to work in the plantations of Hawaii. 

Xiang had saved up some money for his travels to California. Still, he changed his plans and decided to open a food bar restaurant in Chinatown instead. With the help of Kai and Jones, a couple of local construction workers who provided him with leftover wood scraps and free labor in exchange for food, along with some financial contribution from Kenji, they were able to open a small food bar in front of one of the hotels being built by Kai and Jones.

A crowd gathered patiently on the other side of the counter, waiting for Xiang and Kenji to open the food bar. All of them were former plantation workers familiar with Xiang's cooking from his time back at the plantation.

As they both came to open up, one guy yelled out in a pidgin accent, “Eh! Why you guys open up late morning all time?” 

The first customer told Kenji, “I want dat, dat, and dat.” Kenji obliged and moved on to the next customer; he pointed to what he wanted and asked for a medium-boiled egg. Kenji said it’s going to cost a little extra. The customer said, “Dats okay.” Then Kenji came to the next customer, a new plantation worker who didn’t speak English well. “Okay, my friend, what you like?” Kenji asked. With a lost look on his face, he shook his head. Then Kenji pointed to the bowl with noodles in the broth and pointed to the seafood and veggies in the separate bowls back and forth. Then the new guy said, “De Quan,’” pointing to the bowls. Kenji replied, “Dis one, dat one, which one?”  The man looked slightly embarrassed at his lack of English, pointed to the bowls again, and said, “Deeee Quan.” Knowing he struggled to speak English, Kenji smiled because he knew how it was when he first came to the island. 

It turns out that the newcomer is from the northern part of the Philippines, from a province called Ilocos Norte. The phrase “Dee Quan, literally means referring to an inanimate object, like that thing, that object, that fish, those veggies, etc. So in the event that the plantation workers congregated for work, they did the best they could to communicate with each other forming a unique pidgin language amongst themselves. Each culture contributes in its own way. 

I was here when the people arrived to make a home of this place, and only a few grass huts were scattered around this island. I’ve seen generations of their families thrive and grow. I watched them flourish and develop their unique agricultural and aquacultural systems and fishing engineering technology. 

The balance of nature is dependent on the natural selection of evolution, and like any living organism, the will to expand and multiply comes with growing pains. Soon families become tribes, tribes become clans, and friction between neighboring clans eventually turns into war. Maybe it’s nature’s way of keeping the balance within a species. For whatever reason, the situation is a natural occurrence of evolution. 

What is this? A new strange traveler with fair skin has entered from the sea. They come in a very large canoe. They arrive at a time when there is conflict amongst the natives of the islands, and the people are divided. A strange people are bearing gifts never seen from the people of the land. Who are these strangers? Are they friends or foes? What do they want? I want to tell them to be careful, but all I can do is observe.

They have powerful weapons, and their canoe harnesses the power of the wind. They must have powerful gods on their side. They seem friendly, offering new knowledge to improve our way of life. New knowledge is the true treasure.

Suddenly, many of the natives have drawn ill—sickness from a disease they have never encountered before. This once virgin land has given way to contamination spread by the newcomers. As more of the haoles come, more of my Kanaka Maoli die. I fear my end is near as well.

Less than half of my Kanaka Maoli survive, and the haoles keep on coming. More from different lands, of different nationalities and languages. Soon, they are too powerful to confront with force as my native people dwindled and the remaining became dependent on the haole way of life. The royal native monarchy succumbed by force, and their lands were taken away from them. The Kanaka Maoli are now subject to foreign rule. They have now felt the sting of Imperialism. 

Not all is lost; the newcomers from other lands have learned to love the natives’ way of life. They come not to destroy the culture, but to contribute to it. That is the true spirit of Aloha. They love the native dance and the sport of surfing. They adopt the wisdom of Aloha into their hearts to be a part of the Kama’aina and uphold the ways of the indigenous people and the love of the Aina. A beautiful culture built on the foundation of love. 

I’m so lucky to see each culture's contributions to the development of these islands. A mixed plate of love from those who want to call this paradise their home. It is fun for me to witness the blend of cultures, especially in the food. Each newcomer brings their cuisine style to contribute to the Hawaiian mix-plate palate. That’s aloha in action, but alas, my time has come.

Sheila believes this must be heaven floating on a cloud, a luxuriously warm breeze rushing around her body, and the warmth of the sun softly kissing her face. She’s in euphoria, gliding and twisting in the clear blue sky, escaping the darkness at the edge of the horizon, ever coming closer to surrounding her. Unfortunately, the darkness engulfs her quickly as she comes down hard for a crash landing, only to awaken in a cold sweat, shivering uncontrollably with only one thing on her mind, how to get her next fix.

Dimly lit was the park she awakened to as she scanned the area looking for anyone familiar. She sees the usual park folks with their makeshift tent homes tied against the steel wire fences. Friendly the folks were to those in need of shelter and comfort. She was not scared of the people here; she was more concerned with the cops.  With needle marks on her arms, she was a dead giveaway as a junkie. She has a large Hawaiian tattoo wrapped around her forearm that somewhat camouflages the needle marks, but if you look closely, you will see the needle tracks. . 

A kaleidoscope of colors crosses through the threshold of its mind into a dream as its slumber deepens further into the no-return stage of transformation. Curious, it is to see its body begin to reshape as it feels its outer skin start to fall off into an adhesive gel reinforcing the strength of its outer shell from within, giving way to its newfound legs beginning to take shape. And what is this? What is this sprouting from alongside its back, running down to its lower backside? New muscles have formed around the base of this strange new sprout from the backside. They’re not legs; they’re very thin and light but strong. It can’t wait to see this new growth when it finally escapes this shell.

Sheila wakens from her daydream of her mighty little friend to a hurting pain in her stomach. She’s sick again, going through withdrawals, and she knew she had to get another fix soon or end up convulsing all over again. 

The next day she went to her bank and withdrew all the money she had left, but she needed a little more cash. So, she went home, cleaned herself up, and dressed nicely, ready to walk the streets again. She took her usual spot on Hotel Street and turned a couple of tricks. It was a good night. She had more than enough money to satisfy her craving for a while. 

Sheila convinced herself to get some extra, so she could stay feeling good longer than before. She tracked down her local pusher friend Big-O, who told her to go easy; that’s a lot of China White for just one high, girl. She told him, “Don’t worry baby, I’m a big girl; I can hang.” Big-O warned her, “I’m telling ya, you break that shit up, girl!” concerned if she was listening to him. She wasn’t. 

Sheila took the rubber strap and wrapped it around her arm to bulge out the vein. She then took the syringe and shot the drug up her arm. Ahhh, she felt so relieved as she hunched over with a smile looking at her little buddy’s cocoon as she fell into a slumber of brilliant colors exploding in the sky. 

She’s flying again, twisting in and out of the colorful clouds. There was no dark horizon chasing her this time; she made sure of that with the extra dose she shot up. She’s feeling ecstatic again, and nothing can get in her way.

The paramedics arrived and started pumping her stomach as her pulse was weaker. They administered CPR with little effect. They knew they had to rush her to the hospital to save her life. 

As the ambulance started speeding away, all she could feel was the motion of the speed as it added to her dream of flying high. Brilliant colors filled the images in her mind as her pulse weakened. A vortex was starting to form high above her in the sky, ever getting closer. Colors swirled around and enlarged the opening of the whirlwind. She could feel the warm, luxurious wind whipping around her body like a tornado. She let go and went with the gust of the wind as it pulled her into an unknown portal with no vision of the other side.

In the heart of an ancient land, where lush rainforests met the sparkling turquoise seas, lay the kingdom of Langkasuka. This realm was renowned for its wise shamans, masterful artisans, and courageous warriors. Yet, none held a more revered place in legend than the Philosopher's Stone of Resilience. It was said that whoever possessed this mystical artifact could transform any trial or tribulation into a victory, symbolizing ultimate wisdom and strength.

Amara's journey began on a bright morning as the monsoon season ended. Armed with her father's old kris and her mother's gold amulet, she set off into the unknown. Her first challenge came from a treacherous mountain range known as the Naga's Spine. The mountains were steep and unforgiving, with humid winds that sapped her strength and thick vines that seemed determined to entangle her.

At the summit of the Naga's Spine, Amara faced her subsequent trial. A dense, dark rainforest stretched before her, its ancient trees whispering ominously in the wind. The Forest of Echoes was said to be haunted by the spirits of those who had failed their quests. Amara's Every Step was accompanied by the ghostly echoes of past adventurers' regrets and fears.

"Many have come before you, seeking the Philosopher's Stone," Putri said. "All have failed because they could not see beyond their fears."

Amara felt her resolve waver. "I don't know if I can do this," she admitted. "The hopes of my village rest on my shoulders."

Putri smiled kindly. "The Stone of Resilience is not found by strength or cleverness alone. It is found by those who embrace their fears and persevere despite them. Your trials are not meant to break you but to build you."

Finally, after months of hardship, Amara arrived at the entrance of a sacred cave deep within the mountains. Inside, she found a small, unassuming stone resting on a pedestal. A voice echoed through the cavern as she reached out to touch it.

"Only those who have faced their greatest fears and emerged victorious may claim the Philosopher's Stone."

Returning to Kampung Suria, Amara was greeted as a hero. She shared her newfound wisdom with her village, teaching them resilience was the key to overcoming any obstacle. Under her guidance, Kampung Suria flourished, and the legend of Amara and the Philosopher's Stone of Resilience inspired generations to come.