Breath of Life.

I know it's been FOREVER (an understatement) since I've last written, and so do you. So instead of expanding upon the obvious, I'm just going to cut to the chase, here.

I just wrote this because I was inspired by Jorge Luis Borges's short story, "Borges and I." So I did what every aspiring writer would do in response to reading it: I wrote one myself.

“Sikahema and I”

Inhale.

She breathes and takes a bow. Sikahema receives all the credit for her hard work. She is the one who gets to do all of the motions as she dances hula. Me? I do not need that kind of credit from external sources. I am the one who feels it, and that is all the credit I need. I am the one who understands what the music and the words really mean. Little does she know that all the hard work she does only helps her understand who I am. Sometimes we are in touch with one another, but she is often working too hard to even remember me. What is in her blood flows much deeper within me. Sure, she looks like her mother and grandmother, but these women live and abide within me. She takes a breath, but I’m the one who drinks in the air.

My ancestors would use their hands to paint the air with their stories. They dance through me, and then Sikahema is the one who takes over. I realize now that she can’t really help it. Besides, it is in her blood. The aroma of the plumeria leis around her neck wafts through her to get to its home: me. I take it in and welcome it with an embrace. She pretends to show the ocean waves with her gentle hands, but I am the one enveloped in the fluidity of the water. She pretends to beckon the breeze, but the breeze beckons me to join it in its dance. Sikahema creates a flower with her fingers, but what blooms between us is Pualani: a flower from heaven. I often think that I do not need Sikahema to feel what I do. Only when the music plays does she prove me wrong.

Our differences are entwined through one thing, and one thing only. Aloha: the breath of life. She takes a breath, and I drink in the air.

Exhale.

.

I realize I always finish the titles of my blogs with periods.

!

Buckets.

Now that it's "summa summa summatime", my stream of consciousness (thank you, Virigina Woolf for finally putting a name to my madness) flows much more freely and has become a force. I make a summer list every year and this year's is pretty nifty and PACKED, I must say. Would you like to see?

These aren't ordered chronologically.

1. Finish the Harry Potter series

2. Learn about a person [historical, church-related, artists, musicians, what have you] each week (this week is Emma Smith)

3. Go to the zoo.

4. Go to the aquarium.

5. Hit up South Street

6. Buy a book from this barn in Washington Twp that holds books from the 1700s-1800s

7. Attend a ballet/opera/play at the Kimmel Center in Philly

8. Go to the Franklin Institute's "Mummies From Around the World" exhibit

9. Make homemade strawberry jam

10. have a picnic in Central Park

11. Go to Philly's Art Museum

12. Memorize "The Living Christ"

13. Hike La'ie Falls when the fambam goes to Hawaii in August

You likey? Yeah. I'm a fan too.

I'm realizing I'm a list person, and because this is so, I think I am going to make a bucket list, though I hate the phrase, "Kicking the Bucket." But I suppose this list is on that list of things I would like to do before I take step over to the other side.

365 days already?

At 12:00 midnight this morning, I danced a little dance and smiled a big smile. That's because at 12:00 midnight, June 1, 2011 turned into June 2, 2011. And do you know what that means?

Lemme tell you.

A year ago today I woke up early, put on my light blue skirt, brushed the teeth, washed the face, and put a brown headband in my hair [funny how I remember minute details like hairpieces on a special day, like June 2, 2010.] Mama and I got in th

e car, and I studied for my exams. Instead of taking the exit to get on the Ben Franklin to school, we took the exit to the Walt Whitman, the bridge that takes us to the airport.

Very few words were exchanged.

We pulled into the airport and parked.

Entering in the sliding doors at Delta, my Heart

beat faster and faster as I waited for him to arrive.

There he was.

Very few words were exchanged.

He smiled and looked at me. "Morning."

I smiled back. "Hi."

We walked.

Seconds later, we were on the escalator on the way to security.

Minutes later, he would be hugging his parents and sister goodbye.

Minutes later, he would be giving me a handshake

{best handshake of my life.}

"See you in two."

Smiles.

He walked through security until none of us could see him anymore. A sigh of content was let out and we all walked back to our cars.

In just a few hours, he would be wearing a nametag that would not only display his own name but the name of the One he would be representing for the next 2 years, JESUS CHRIST.

Words are now exchanged through heartfelt letters.

Letters come and go, memories continue to be made and the old ones remain, mistakes still happen, and there has been much learning.

this past year has DEFINITELY been one of the best out of the short 17 I've lived thus far.

Days would pass, and so would months until midnight of June 2, 2011 hit the clock

[one year]

later, and I danced a little dance and smiled a big smile.

happy one year, elder corbitt.

To my Beloved.

Dear England,

You cannot be compared to any other place in the world. Though I departed from you over a couple weeks ago (has it really been that long?), London’s vibe is still just as fluent in my veins as it was the day I arrived. After many hours of articulating and observing the lifestyle in London, I’ve come to the conclusion that it is the City of Contrasts. London is so diverse, yet united. It’s posh, yet there are dozens of people scraping to get by while living the posh lifestyle. People who are struggling [financially, or even to discover themselves as we all are] do it with flair. Historical buildings still stand strong while modern and posh dwellers surround their elegance. Please continue that tradition. I already know you won’t disappoint me. You never could.

As you may know, you have a special and tender spot in my heart. Perhaps it’s the English nerd that’s coming out of me that completely thrived in Literature’s birthplace. I know I am not alone to think that Shakespeare and Jane Austen are two of history’s most beloved children. Thank you, England, for being such a wonderfully inspirational home to these writers, that they may compose the beauty of your hills, your city, and your love. Where would the world be without Romeo? And Juliet? And Macbeth? Where would my love for literature be without MR. DARCY?

Please, London. Do not change. Please continue to call your trash “rubbish.” Give all of your Mums a thoughtful Mother’s Day card or two. I was so delighted to see the many card shops for Mother’s Day. You softie. Please continue to have Crème Tea for luncheons and don’t ever allow the Tube to stop business. Oh! And don’t forget to “mind the gap.” Continue to nourish the flowers in Hyde Park with your rain and infrequent rays of sunshine. Keep the theatre alive, if you don’t mind. Continue to produce telephone booths. Don’t put an admission fee on your museums. I absolutely love that they’re for free-not only because I’m a frugal person, but learning shouldn’t cost anything.

I hope this isn’t too much to ask for, love. You’ve been doing what you’re doing for years. Just keep it up!

Cheers.

Love,

Lana.

Call and Response.

http://www.callandresponse.com/trailers.php

Watch this and join the 21st century abolitionist movement against human trafficking.

Your heart will break.

But hopefully, its breaking will move you to do something about it.

best sunday ever.

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby.

plus tears

plus happiness

plus energy

plus emotions

and those are my thoughts.

Welcome to the family, Gabe.

All Natur-al

I took the ACTs this morning.

I walked into them in jeans and a sweatshirt, both of which I've already worn this week.

No shame.

My two Merion Mercy Academy companions had sweat pants and sweatshirts on.

Then a group of girls from the school I was thinking about going to walked in the door, all done up.

They pulled up in their brand-spanking-new cars.

I pulled up in my Lexus that's as old as I am with duct tape hanging on the bottom to keep it together.

These girls had their makeup all done, their Victoria's Secret outfits on, their Juicy bags, and their hair done to perfection.

Let me remind you, it was 7:30 in the morning..

and we were there to take a test.

My friends and I had our hair thrown up, unbrushed.

We couldn't help but laugh at how silly we must have looked next to them.

But really, in the long run, it's how silly they looked next to us.

We were confident in our sweat pants, ghetto cars, and makeup-less faces.

Moments like these are the times I am so happy I made the decision to attend Merion.

I did not feel incompetent for one moment standing next to those girls.

My goodness, how I've grown.

Chyeah, Mater Misericordiae.

Go 'head, girl.

Storytelling.

As a Polynesian who has grown up on the east coast, I have had many interesting experiences and aspects continuously brought into my life. With all of my extended family members living out west, I never really had as strong an influence from them as they had on each other. So when our family could make it to a scarce amount of family reunions, I found myself acting and thinking differently than most of my cousins. I have come to realize this was so because my extended family developed their love for the culture with each other, while I have learned to develop my love for the culture within my home. My immediate family alone has been the sole resource of my culture, and I can undoubtedly say that I have embraced it as I have learned to live as a minority.

With a father who emigrated from Tonga as a child, he himself observed, even as a boy, that the Tongan culture is very different from the American culture. So as he grew up, there were things that he would pick and choose from each culture that he wanted to be a part of his life and his future family’s lives. The truth is, there are many pros and cons of each culture, and as my parents have raised my siblings and me, they have decided to keep an even balance of each in our home. This has blessed me in a myriad of ways, one of which is my expression of my culture to my peers.

Dancing hula for me has been an experience of beauty, love, and faith. My mother grew up in La’ie, Hawaii, and just as her talented and stunning mother taught her to dance hula, my mother has taught me. When I first started to learn hula as a little girl, one of the first things my mom said before I learned a single step or hand motion was "you tell a story." Whether you're telling your own story or someone else's, whatever you do when the music comes on is what you want your audience to know. Therefore, hula has brought beauty into my life through its expression of storytelling. As mentioned before, I am one of very few Polynesians who lives on the east coast, so opportunities to dance hula are infrequent. But every once in a while, I am given an opportunity, and thankfully, I have never turned one down. In school, I have danced hula for “cultural days” and talent shows, I danced for weddings, and on a couple occasions, I have taught hula at birthday parties to young girls, which is always exciting. However, whether I am dancing in a talent show or on the front lawn with a group of seven-year-olds in hula skirts, the feeling is the same. I feel beautiful.

Love is shown and felt while dancing hula. I feel the love of the story I am telling, the love of my culture, and most importantly, the love I have for my family. This love plays a role in the faith that I have developed through dancing hula. My grandmother was a beautiful, graceful, and impeccable woman. Every wonderful trait she had was portrayed in her dancing, and she became well known amongst her community in Hawaii for her talent in hula. To the dismay of several people, especially my mother, my grandmother died of breast cancer while my mother was only thirteen years old. However, her beauty has carried on to my mother, and it is always evident in my mother’s dancing hula. Though I have not met my grandmother in this life, I can feel her beauty and love through every step and flow of my hands. As I dance hula, I have faith that my deceased grandmother lives in me. Knowing this increases my love for hula, my family, and my culture, and every time I dance, this is the story I tell.

don't hate on code 8.

code 8 morality....

i love you girls to pieces.

today, folks....I'm grateful for my lovely religion class ladies.

Gratitude for this Bloggette of Mine.

I could apologize for not writing for a while, but I feel I would be apologizing to a fan club that has given up hope on my blogging, since I have not written in ages. And I don't blame you, whoever you are. So this is me not apologizing. Next.

There have been several excuses that have shoved me away from my blog, and my blog from me. Unfortunately, these "excuses" include busy-ness, laziness, and the excuse I despise most...nothing to blog about.

However, the inner-bloggette within me has been knocking--no--pounding at my mind's door, yearning to let some things out. "Fan club," I'd like you to meet the Lana-Bloggette. She wants to share a few things with you.

Gratitude has taken a deeper, more meaningful path for me since the new year [it's only been a couple weeks, I know]. See, President Henry B. Eyring, challenged us a few years ago to find something to be grateful for every. single. day. It is far from difficult, as several people, I hope, can imagine. I knew taking on this challenge would be worth it, but although it has only been a couple of weeks, my life has completely changed. The most difficult part in this challenge is finding room in my life to place all of the blessings that have been poured into it.

I have brought a separate challenge upon myself within this challenge: find something different to be grateful for everyday. Though I thank my Heavenly Father daily for the Famous, Repetitive F's (food, family, friends), I have tried to thank Him for something different each day, or if I do thank Him for one of the F's, I try to be as specific as possible. My gratitude for these things and people have been recorded. With this effort to record these, I have enjoyed searching for obscure, unnoticed things that I am so delighted to have in my life. For example...

January 2, 2011

I am grateful for nature and different cultures. It rained today, and I am so grateful for the rain. Our family watched "Dances with Wolves" last night and it made me so thankful for the beauty of the Native American culture. I love their unity with each other and with nature.

January 3, 2011

I am so grateful for cough drops. They soothed my cough a little bit, but they also just taste super good. I can't remember the last time I had a cough like this. But it's all good...because I have Halls' Tropical Blend cough drops. Mmmmmm. Yummo. :]

January 4. 2011

Today I am grateful for a comfy bed I can sleep in every night. Although not too much happened today, I'm super tired, and I am so glad I have a bed to return to at night. Nighty night.

Today, I am grateful I could let my thoughts out to play for a little.

But we'll be back.

A neophyte to reading the dictionary.

milquetoast: n a person who is timid or submissive

incorrigible: adj. not able to be corrected, reformed, or informed

palpable: adj. able to be touched or felt; tangible

aviary: n. an enclosed space for birds

jettison: v. to cast overboard, get rid of as unnecessary or burdensome

picayune: adj. of little value or importance, paltry, measly; concerned with trifling matters, small-minded

...use these words and you will be a juggernaut.

what's a juggernaut?

look the wordy word up, silly.

don't be lackadaisical.

shibboleth.

Feelings of the Gut.

Last night I tossed and turned as the fate of an epic and memorable milestone awaited for me in the morning.

My license.

As if my nerves weren't wracking my senses already, my allergies were acting up, and I had a nightmare my Marcky fell in love with someone else. A blonde chick I didn't recognize who he wrapped his arms around and cradled, like he always did to me.

I woke up relieved it was just a dream, but my nerves still took control of me as I prayed and tried to mentally prepare for this test. As much as I tried to plea with Heavenly Father to help me pass this test, I had a gut feeling I wouldn't pass. It was a feeling I almost refused to feel, but of course I tried to keep my mind open to the inevitable. On the long car ride there, my new friend/ quintessential Italian grandpa driving instructor talked about his sons and daughter and grandkids. He made me feel really comfortable. "Hey! I can do this!" repeated in my mind continuously as I thought of all the wretched times Daddy made me drive home from school through Philly in traffic. A simple figure eight course seemed like it should be a breeze.

but that gut feeling of failure was still in me.

We finally arrived to the course after a long car ride of hearing Grandpa Larry's family tree and hearty, raspy laughing. We were the first ones there, meaning I would be the first one to drive the course, and everyone would watch and follow my lead. I strapped in the driver's seat, said another prayer, felt confident, and I imagined Marcus sitting in the seat next to me, encouraging me as he always does. I smiled. I started the car, put it in drive, and drove. I coasted along the course, stopped at all the stop signs, parallel parked perfectly, K turned, and drove back to the beginning. I was confident. I looked to the instructor, waiting for his commentary and the news I'd been waiting for for months, if not years.

"We're gonna have you come back, sweetheart. You forgot your blinker on your K turn, and heaven forbid you get hit by someone who doesn't see your blinker. Call us whenever you're ready for your next appointment."

A blinker kept me away from success.

A small and swift motion of my left hand. That's it.

I got out of the car, handed the keys to the next girl, and tried to keep the tears from pouring out. Grandpa Larry came and patted me on the back like he would to his own children, saying I would be okay. I think he made a joke because he started cracking up, but I was in another world.

Part of me was asking why this would happen to me, but I knew that I knew it was coming. So I did the only thing I could. I smiled.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still not happy and it's been a day full of leisure to make me feel better. I came home, watched Finding Nemo, Carina brought one of her home videos over to watch, I took a nap, and I've been reading for hours. I'm already feeling okay. I'm grateful, more than anything. Heavenly Father warned me with that gut feeling. Perhaps it was the Spirit, but all I know is that nothing else could have prepared me better than that feeling I had throughout the night and this morning. As strange it may sound, it felt good to fail. It reminded me that I need failure every once in a while, and He's testing me to see how I handle it. I could've handled it a little better, but there's always room for improvement.

And there's ALWAYS a bright side.

Besides, it's not like Marcus is wrapping his arms around an unknown babe from my dreams.

Be thou Humble

There is so much in store, I'm not quite sure what to focus on at the moment.

What is a blog, anyway?

I'm never quite sure what I should and shouldn't reveal about my personal life and thoughts. Sometimes I use it just as a gateway to better writing.

I am beyond excited for the coming school year. I can't wait to learn more about writing and what I can do to improve. I miss being able to exercise my writing skills on a regular basis. I feel like my edge has been sanded down when it should be sharp.

The school year also forces me to work on my time management, which is in desperate need. Granted, I don't have too much to manage nowadays, but the homework and activities will give me something to manage. Preparation for life on my own.

Whenever I sit down to blog, I have a topic in mind that I want to write about, but that topic diverges into a million different thoughts. Then I find myself pressing the "enter" key to start a brand new paragraph every couple sentences.

There I go again.

My heart and mind are in several different places.

Girls camp.

my bedroom.

Idaho.

Treybo.

It's extremely hard to keep my heart and mind balanced. I'm trying so hard to be good, and to choose to feel positive when the situations and people that call are making it difficult. But that's why the prayers I pray strengthen me. I need these people and these situations to be edified and strengthened. Heavenly Father loves me.

So I guess I just use my blog to vent to myself. To release thoughts and feelings into writing so I can better myself. Is that selfish?

D&C 112:10

Be thou humble, and the Lord shall lead thee by the hand.

a beautiful mess

There's a slew of things on my mind, yet there isn't. so we'll see how this blog goes.

I really didn't want to mention too much about the missionary I'm in love with in Idaho, but since I've barely done anything the past couple of days, he occupies my mind every moment it's idle. And then I hit play.

My heart ached for the first time in Rome.

Truly, irresistibly, unforgettably ached.

Strolling through the universally romantic city on the planet, I should've expected it.

My apologies to you readers who may have read my blogs and are probably sick of reading about him, but then again I'm tired of feeling guilty for wanting to talk about him.

Forgive me.

My relationship with the Savior has been particularly special lately. He's answered a myriad of my prayers, and it blows me away every time. I've become more thankful, appreciative, and contemplative about the world and what's really important.

I'm cleaning myself up little by little and in sections. My spirituality is one, my body another, and my interests, even. I feel my interests for a majority of my life have been based on what others may think, whether if they would approve or not. Sometimes it was negative, but other times it was actually a positive method. Asking myself, "what would he/she do?" and solve a problem righteously. As I've grown up [I still am] I've gathered the good things from good people and put them in a pot of righteous soup. After eating it, these good habits have become a part of me. I observe what people do and learn to apply these things to my life.

However, every once in a while there's a bad vegetable that gets in the pot of soup, and I'll partake of that too. Then it'll make me sick, and my cure varies. That's how my relationship with the Savior has been strengthened. He heals me. So does the sacrament. and friends. and mom. and dad. and brothers. and a little Chinese girl named Marielle, who sings taylor swift and preschool songs to me.

A snag visits me now and again when I feel the pain of mistakes I've made in the past. It hurts sometimes, but then I remind myself I'm not the one bringing those thought back into my life.

As much as I love my life now, I miss my childhood days terribly. I miss my brothers at home, as we would all argue with each other, but then come to each other's rescue. We were all superheroes. I miss those car rides of us laughing and teasing Mom and Dad while they were in the other car next to us on the way to a party. Now we're all grown up, and I wonder if that means we can't be superheroes the way we were. We still save each other, but since we're older we can't wear capes. I miss those capes. The trampoline is gone from our backyard like our childhood.

Mom teaches me mommy things to know in the future. Some things are easy to understand, but others are more difficult. I try my best to perform these things gracefully like a lady should, but I've discovered for most of these feats, it's like I'm picking up trash in a dress.

that's all for now, folks. keep prayin.

some natural foreshadowing.

orchids.

white and green orchids will be at my wedding.

perhaps some hydrangeas.

but definitely orchids.

love.

stay tuned..

i know i haven't written in ages.

nerdy.geeky.dorky.

there are so many different places and things to write, and although it's quarter to midnight, and I have school tomorrow, I choose to write on my blog.

Tomorrow is my last day of classes. I've been through and I've learned so much this year. Not just academically, but in my life. I had my biggest pitfall, and I'm still in the process of pulling myself out of that deep hole. but it's safe to say that my fingertips are on the brim of that hole. and I know that once I'm out of it, I'm going to keep learning more about life, myself, and academics.

by the way, i love school.

Exams and painful work aside, I absolutely love learning. and I love learning in an all girls school. I love getting my summer reading list, even if I don't finish all of the required reading. I love learning and understanding concepts that I can use in life, even if it's only one time. I love writing papers. I love learning ways to write and the history of the country and world. I love learning the roots of words and reasoning behind the meanings of English words in Latin. I feel like I'm being taken back to the Roman empire where people would enjoy someone reciting verses of Cicero at a party. Sometimes I wish that was still active today. I love having class discussions and debates in religion class. I love having my faith put to the test. I've never felt so much growth in myself in just a forty-minute class period. I love learning about the body and its functions. I love being pushed in school, to force myself to know information that will help me in the future.

as much as I love summer, I'm ready for school next fall. I'm actually excited.

Am I a dork?

if a dork is simply someone who enjoys learning in school, then...

chyeah.

very much so.

distance and time: alicia keys

"no matter how far you are

no matter how long it takes him

through distance and time

I'll be waiting."

hmph.

dreamy.

Mila

came across this little number in the archives of the computer.

this is the essay i submitted to merion as a part of my application.

the question was to describe an experience that changed my life.

..also it's been raining and storming all day. smiles to extremes.

..speaking of smiles to extremes...skyped with lj and kaylie in hong kong today.

:D

Summer of 2007 will never escape my mind. Boarding the plane from Hawaii to Tonga was not the only adventure I was in for as my family and me soared over endless blue seas to the islands of my heritage. As the miniscule plane came to a turbulent stop on a dirt runway, the humble circumstances of the Tongan islands became evident instantly. No matter how much Dad tried to prepare us kids for the cultural experiences we would have, he would never be able to foreshadow the unforgettable memory waiting for me.

Her name is Naemila. She told me to call her Mila in her broken English. Riding in the bed of a rusty pickup truck to my uncle’s tiny worn-down home, I met Mila at the doorstep as she took our bags. The next morning, I woke up to Mila motioning me to come with her to somewhere I did not know, and my parents were surprisingly excited for me to leave with someone practically a stranger. Mila and I walked for miles to beautiful beaches unknown to earth. We picked up breakfast from a cousin of hers who was climbing trees and gathering coconuts as a part of his daily routine. We walked to a beach with a colossal cave that looked out to the vast ocean and horizon. As we gazed at the skyline I realized how small I was compared to the world. Mila expressed to me how thankful she was to have a friend like me, a friend who could barely understand her English, yet know her intentions to be a daughter of God. Mila was very religious, and knew how fortunate she was to have what she did, which was very little. She and I spent everyday together as she showed me the paradise in which she lived. I learned that paradise for her was food, clothing, and a place to sleep, and obtaining happiness only took a glance at the horizon.

e ku'u morning dew

there's something about him that i simply just cant get enough of,

and frankly,

i think that "something" has turned into many things.

maybe it's the way he looks at me.

whether he's teasing, or serious.

maybe it's the way we laugh together.

or perhaps when we play piano together.

like a duet, almost.

maybe it's the way he smells good 24/7.

literally.

or maybe it's our taste in music.

the way we sing the o'jays and michael jackson

and earth, wind, and fire on car rides.

maybe it's the "good morning lana" texts i get.

i love those.

or could it be when he holds my hand?

perhaps.

i think it's a combination of all these things that just makes me crazy about him.

maybe that's the reason why i repeat his name over and over again in my mind..

just so i can smile if i'm ever feeling upset.

perhaps my memories of our dates is the reason why his name is doodled in my notebooks, complemented with a heart or two, of course.

i've become less and less bothered by the people

who tease me for this relationship..

in which are reasons i am unsure.

i think i've got it.

it's the way he treats me.

he treats me like i'm of royalty.

i feel like i don't deserve it.

and i really don't.

but he doesn't let me think that.

i try my best to be as good to him as he is to me.

and to be as good as him in general,

regardless of our relationship.

i've been holding a lot of this in, but now that we're down to a

monthly/weekly/daily

countdown until he leaves,

i feel the need to let these thoughts and feelings loose.

so here i am...unchaining these thoughts from the center of my mind

and putting them on a blog.

for everyone capable to read.

but it's all true.

he gives me more than he knows.

whether he's aware of it or not, it's true.

i promise.