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.