#honolulucassandra

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Adoption Saves Lives

Aloha and good morning from the Hawaiian Islands! I've been a little quiet the past couple months; it has been a great time of transformation for myself and my husband. I would like to announce that we have adopted a beautiful one-year-old pup named Kane from the Honolulu Humane Society and we have delayed outside projects to focus on our growing, furry family. Kane comes into a family of fish, parakeets, guinea pigs, and, of course, us humans--all who have accepted him and love him as much as possible! This wasn't an easy transition and it was certainly hard not to be emotional while bringing Kane into our home. Kane is one of the bravest souls I know and even he knows that those bad times are behind him.

It makes me angry and upset to talk about those bad times. Kane spent his puppyhood in pain, hunger, and sadness; it was the only life he had ever known. Kane is a rescue dog. He was seized by the Humane Society earlier this year from people who abused him and neglected him. He was brought to the shelter and treated--but his abuse was mentally ingrained. Kane didn't respond well to human contact--he shied away from people and cringed under chairs or as far back into his cage he could go. He found comfort in his canine companions, but he was scared senseless of humans.

The rescuers told Ryan and I that he is a Mastiff/American Bulldog mix with the possibility that some Pitbull blood runs in his veins. Because of his lack of proper nutrition and care during his first year, he will most likely never reach the full 150-200lbs he should be; instead Kane is only 63lbs. He had been adopted once already by a family with young kids--the shelter volunteers were hopeful Kane had found his forever home, but a month later the family returned him saying he wasn't "social."

The whole story makes me upset. The whole ordeal this young, innocent puppy had to face is just unimaginable and my eyes burn with tears Kane can't shed.

My husband didn't know his story when he picked Kane to come home with us. We arrived at Petsmart an hour before the Humane Society arrived for the dog adoptions. Ryan had been looking at puppies online the night before and he made arrangements see some black Labrador retriever puppies after we saw the dogs at the adoption event--I don't think he was expecting to fall in love with Kane.

My husband has a soft spot for animals. He adopted our UGLY guinea pig, Ri Ri (his name is actually Beast, but Ryan insisted on calling him 'Retarded'). This little rodent is a hairless guinea pig with red eyes and little, scraggly tufts of fur. We originally went to the pet store to buy our guinea girl, Beauty, but Ryan wouldn't leave the shop without Ri. He later told me he wanted to adopt the ugly guinea pig because no one wanted him and he believed every animal deserved a chance-- turns out Ri is one cool animal. Within a week he was healthier, happier, and even running around his cage pop-corning; I'll admit it... he grows on you once you get over the whole hairless part ;)

So it was no surprise that when the Humane Society showed up, he bugged the poor rescue worker until she let him see some of the dogs. The very first he laid eyes on was Kane. I saw Ryan from inside Petsmart; he was hunched over and had his hand inside the big cage, his blue eyes already shining.

Here we go, I thought. Ryan is already in love!

The lady had Ryan back up as she pulled an absolutely gorgeous brindle and white dog out of the back of the truck. He had his tail tucked so far in between his legs that it looked like he didn't have one at first. He didn't even want to make eye contact with anyone and he crouched down on the sidewalk, shaking. Ryan sat down next to him and offered his hand. The dog ignored it at first, but after a few minutes he gave Ryan a sniff before turning his head away. He had the most beautiful brown eyes I've ever seen. They were big and sad--the kind that pulls your heart strings and I knew he was the dog we were taking home. Ryan and I walked Kane around outside as far as we could around Petsmart. He was so scared, buy Ryan kept telling the dog,

"Don't worry, Kane-- we won't hurt you. You'll come home with us and have a good life."

We adopted him on the spot. We filled out the forms, dotted our i's, crossed our t's, and Kane was ours. He was so scared and I was afraid for him during the car ride home. He needed some coaxing to get into the house and we let him explore. After an hour or two, he had become comfortable enough to jump up and take Ryan's spot on the couch. I let him outside and threw a rawhide around--to my surprise he wagged his tail and started to chase after it--I felt like a proud mommy when her baby takes their first steps. The real reward came around dinner time when Kane gave Ryan and I both a kiss. We went back to Petsmart to get Kane another bed for upstairs when we ran into the lady who helped us earlier at the adoption event.

"Wow," she said. "He looks like a totally different dog!! I'm so happy for him!!"

This one furry animal has totally and completely changed our lives and the love we have shared with him and the bond we created has totally changed his. He wags his tail so fast now and so often, we have bruises covering the middle of our lower legs. I wake up every morning to Kane pressing his wet nose against my hand, nuzzling me to get up and play. Every night before bed, he grabs his favorite stuffed pig and tucks it right beside him for sleep. He gives us kisses and he even gives our guinea pigs a good lick or two! He is extremely obi dent and listens to us; he respects us when we tell him no and is enthused when he tell him yes. He is still shy around people, but he is much better than before. I look at his story, where he came from, and I'm filled with such emotion and joy that we were able to take his innocent animal and show him the compassion and love he deserves.

I try to imagine what he looked like when the rescuers saved him from his abusers, but then I think: Why? Why imagine that? Kane's moved on. He's learned to love and trust again; be mad about what happened to him, then move on to the happiness he has found. I love my dog more than anything because of his spirit, his ability to love unconditionally, and his enthusiasm to LIVE.

I cannot stress enough to people out there looking for a furry addition to the family--please, thing adoption first! There are so many shelter dogs who DESERVE a second chance (this was Kane's third!). It really does save lives.

On October 6th, 2013, Ryan and I will be participating in the Hawaiian Humane Society's annual PetWalk in Honolulu. In lieu of a registration fee, the HHS has asked for walkers to make teams; teams can then ask sponsors to donate and help the shelter continue taking care of rescued animals. It costs $250 PER ANIMAL to receive vet care and basic necessities. Ryan and I have set a goal for $250 to give at least one animal a better quality of life before going on to their forever home. I know that someone's donation helped Kane receive the care he desperately needing during his time at HHS and now we want to give back. Hopefully, we can raise more to help other animals, but every dime, every dollar, counts. Here is the link to our page and feel free to donate or just swing by to visit!! Our animals really are our families and here is just one small way we can give back!  

http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/CassandraFossen/petwalk2013

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The Koi :) you can also see the man behind the bushes in a lime green shirt.

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Reflecting at the Koi Pond

For the last year that I've lived in Hawaii, I've driven down every single road there is on O'ahu. Driving to and from work, driving to Schofield Barracks, driving to Waikiki, driving to North Shore-- I thought I had seen it all. It was always curious to me, however, that the single, solitary road that wound it's way up the foot of the mountains to my subdivision always had a small group of people just off to the side of it. You see, at the entrance to my subdivision, there is a small "bridge" and beneath it is filled with murky, dirty run off water from the gutters of houses. This is where the people gather--to look into it. I just always thought this was super weird and very silly. I used to think while passing by, "what the hell?! What are those people doing?? They're crazy." And I would continue on with my day. I've walked past the bridge a few times, but always at night and the water was swollen with the monsoon rains. Yesterday, however, was my early day at the dealership. I gleefully got off work at 16:30, sat in rush hour traffic for an hour, but made it home in time to go for an early evening run. I laced up my shoes, threw on my headphones, and bolted out the door. I was just coming to the end of my sub and was crossing over the bridge when I happened to glance down. There was nobody around but me. A little ways down I could see a couple walking their Chow Chow, but nobody around me. Something caught my eye in the water. I stood on my tipy toes and peering over the concrete wall and through a chain link fence, I could still catch a glimpse of it. A beautiful golden koi. A large as my hands spread out, it's scales dazzling in the sun. I gaped at it. We have koi at home, but I've never seen one as big as this. It took me to moment of scanning the water to see there were other big koi: a beautiful all black one with a white fin, another was orange, white, and black. There must have been at least ten and there were more coming my way. The big gold one kept coming to the surface, brushing his big fins in the air like he was waving at me. I was just totally in awe of these creatures, so majestic, in such an odd place. I noticed an older, oriental man sitting by the side of the water with a small bucket of fish food. He was feeding koi that were closer to him. He smiled when he saw me looking. "Are these your fish, sir?" I asked him. He shook his head. "No, they are everyone's fish." "Oh," I said. "I was wondering how they got here." "Koi," he said, "they are very smart. They found a way. You know, the legends say they like only good people; that is what we believe. They seem to like you and you don't even have food. Maybe that is your fortune for the day." He smiled again. He emptied the rest of the bucket into the water and made his way back into his house, waving as he shut the sliding glass door. I stood there just watching the fish gobble up the last of the pellets. The big gold one floated by again and with a flick of its tail, he disappeared under the bridge. I stood for another 10 minutes at the spot, just watching the koi while cars drove past me. I just imagined myself in one of those cars, not ever seeing the beautiful koi and still thinking how silly it was to see people on the bridge just looking into the water. I shook my head. Wow, I was the silly one. I vowed to never again judge without seeing things from another perspective. To a passerby in a vehicle, I look ridiculous standing here. But seeing the koi in the pound was worth the judgement if what other people though because in reality... They're the ones who missed out.

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Mirror Mirror

 It's a beautiful sunny morning here on Oahu. It's already 80 degrees with a predicted high of 90--that is pretty hot for Hawaii. Luckily, the trade winds are strong and palms trees along the highway are bowing in its breeze. As I stare out the big picture window in front on my little desk, there is a small wisp of cloud obscuring the mountains--the mist from a light sprinkle throws a dazzling display of rich colors across the sky. That is why Hawaii is called the 'Rainbow State'.

There's always a rainbow here.

Right now, I'm people watching. My desk overlooks the side of the dealership where Thrifty Car Rental stands. My attention is drawn past the BMW racing bikes, Harley cruisers, and even some HPD (Honolulu Police Department) motorcycles, to the flurry of tourists picking up and drop off their flashy rentals. Some wonder over curiously to our service department to check out the bikes. Many are in palm-printed button downs and floral sundresses with big hats; everyone is wearing flip flops.

Most of these dresses are really cute and I admire the women who pull them off so well--some are short, flirty dresses that hug the body in bright tropical colors; others are long maxi dresses that billow around the feet with bold tribal prints. I look down to what I'm wearing... jeans, white tank top, and a white cardigan. Urgh, who dressed me this morning?? I'm excruciatingly boring. I live in Hawaii, what is wrong with my wardrobe?

I pass by a mirror in our lobby while running early morning errands and catch a glimpse of myself.

Why am I wearing this..Ew... I repeat: why am I wearing this? It looks terrible!

And, well... this is where this little Spiel beings.

~

About two years ago, I made a commitment to better myself. I don't want to go on a limb and say I was "fat", but yeah, ok... I kind of was and I was unhappy with myself for it. I knew I was healthy-- I swam on the high school team and I played lacrosse. If I wasn’t swimming, I was running and if I wasn't running, I was swimming. I was perfectly healthy in every way--but my weight did not reflect it. I was never bullied for it. I never felt uncomfortable around my friends, but it was something I NOTICED and had a horrible attitude about.

So one day, I decided to change it.

I started walking every day for at least an hour. I parked my car further away in parking lots. I ate smaller portions and looked to my stomach to tell me when I was hungry, not the clock. I read the nutrition labels on the back of containers and if I couldn't pronounce an ingredient, I didn't eat it. I drank more water and cut out pop. I still rewarded myself with the occasional frozen yogurt or fruit with Cool Whip Lite. When I went out to eat, I asked for the smaller portions of meals I wanted or picked from the 'Under such-and-such Calories' part of the menu. I also packed healthy snacks so when I was hungry in class, I would munch on apple slices or carrots instead of a candy bar from the vending machine.

With these simple changes, I dropped over 50lbs and went from at pant size 13 to a size 5 in seven months. It felt SO GOOD to step on the scale every morning and feel SATISFIED with the lowering numbers. I celebrated the little losses and didn't let the setbacks get me down. Slowly, pound by pound, week by week, I stared my healthier me!I remember having to buy all new clothes and I felt excited to wear things I never could before. I rewarded myself with bathing suits for my upcoming move to Hawaii. My coworkers said I looked great in them--and for a tiny eeny second I believed it.

But I will say, the euphoria wore off, slowly at first, but it did. I soon found that horrible attitude coming right back--I was judging my body in the mirror again, mentally making a list of everything I wanted to change:

Stomach, too big--must go.

Arms, very flabby--more push-ups.

Thighs, too big--run longer.

All those swim suits I bought lay in disuse at the bottom of my dresser drawers. Outfits I once loved now hang in my closet, unworn, since I've been in Hawaii. I would say half of what I own I never wear because I don't like the way it looks on me. I change outfits over and over again until I'm all covered up in jeans and a sweater. This is ridiculous, I try telling myself, but my husband says it best:

"WHAT YOU FUCKING PUT ON THE FIRST TIME WAS JUST FINE. NOW YOU WASTED 45 MINUTES AND TRASHED MY SIDE OF THE BED WITH A MOUNTAIN OF CLOTHES."

Thanks, Ryan.

Here I am, two years later, still stuck mentally in place I was when I was 50lbs heavier. Weight loss or no, my attitude didn't change. THAT'S the problem. I have beautiful tropical weather all year long and I dread going to the beach because of how I look in a bathing suit.

One of my best friends describes this as "emotional terrorism," and well, that's what it is!! I look in the mirror and that evil little voice just gets right back into my head and I think, wow... this is just a terrible way to go about life. This is a terrible way to always talk yourself down when you KNOW you can build yourself up. The real crazy thing is that no one else is pressuring me to look this way; only *I* am. I know countless other women and even men who have this problem.

I read an article recently that our own Latrodectus lovely Amie posted about men and how they perceive women. The writer said that men don't choose models to be in ads or on TV--consumerism does. The author goes on to write that this distorted vision of the 'perfect woman' is just a figment of imagination used to SELL a product. Models are airbrushed for make-up ads. Celebrities are photographed in certain lighting to make them look better. Older movie stars can erase their wrinkles with a little nip and tuck. Nothing is genuine anymore and that, sadly, has become the norm... at least that is what the latest issue of Teen People, Vogue, and InTouch seem to imply.

But we women really need to give ourselves more credit than that. Give men credit, too, because no matter our shape and size, men love us the way we are and what the hell, other women think we look fine too! Everyone needs to give themselves more credit because we live in a time where it truly is difficult to just BE YOURSELF and BE HAPPY. The problem isn't with our legs, thighs, arms, or stomach; the problem is the idea in our heads that we're not Barbie.

I am fortunate enough to have my husband by my side, who is my constant battle buddy against my own criticism.

"Oh you think you look fat? You're in a size 5 dress now shut up and put on your sandals."

"What? Your stomach is fat? Are you insulting the wonderful dinner *I* grilled last night?"

"Why are you complaining about your arms? You can do more push-ups than some of my guys."

"You think you look fat in that top? You're NOT fat! You just have BIG BOOBS; there's a difference, you know."

Thank you, again, Ryan. (This story is making him look like a douche but he is the nicest man ever, I promise!! Haha! He just REALLY hates my "oh-woe-is-me" monologues!!)

I'll see my husband sneak a peak at my Victoria's Secret magazine (urgh.. that's a rant for another blog post), but he usually makes a face. One time I asked him why he does that and all he said, with a shrug of his shoulders, was, "fake."

It's when he says thinks like that, that I feel like smacking myself in the face for being so consumed by what my eyes see in the mirror. My attitude about the whole thing just stinks and it takes my husband 80 thousand phrases to make me budge just a little on my thoughts about it. The only person's opinion that matters to me is his.

There are so much more important things to focus on and I've already accomplished my goal of being healthy and happy. Wasting away in front of a mirror is not the idea I had when I planned out my weight loss journey--it's time to start a spiritual journey to accept myself; that's the other half of it. I already have the tools to begin, now I just need to apply them.

This lesson doesn't apply to just weight loss--it applies to women and men who see themselves as less than what they really are. Change your attitude, see the good, set and achieve your goals and may they be plenty, don't let YOU bring YOU down--you are your own enemy and your own savior. I know I need to hear this and live by it, too. A mirror does not show who we are on the inside and that is so much more important.

~

You know, I'm still looking at my reflection in the lobby and all of this pretty much flashed through my head in a moment's time. I take a step back and a smile appears. Right now is a new moment in a new day and for once, I'm going to take my own advice.  

I read an article on Facebook about 15 Ways to Improve Your Quality of Life... One of them was to take a walk and while doing it, SMILE. So I did and let me tell you, that simple thing sure made me forget about my petty worries and self-conscious issues; not only that, but also started a whole new page on me accepting myself, with all my flaws and perfections, as I am :)

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My Purse is JUST Plain Black.

Last night, I was honored to accompany my husband, one of his old soldiers who just got out of the Army, and my roommate (also in the service), out to Waikiki for some drinking, dancing, and good old Hawaiian fun. While getting introduced to some of my roommate's friends, a woman in the group asked if all four of us were in the military, to which I replied, "No, I'm not. I'm just married to it." 

Her pleasant expression soured before she spit out, "oh, you're JUST an ARMY WIFE.You probably have your husband's rank on a camo-colored purse."

Excuse me?!? I don't think I've ever been so offended. While I am very discreet about my status as indeed a military wife, it is a little piece of honor to stand beside my husband who proudly and selflessly serves. 

Unfortunately, the spouses of airmen, Marines, soldiers, sailors, and guardsmen get a pretty bad rap. Countless are just teenagers when they get married. Spouses often use the marriage as a means of financial support instead of genuine love. Many wives don't pursue a higher level of education, they use their husband's rank to pull weight on other spouses, and refuse to get a job to help out financially. A lot of military wives have kids young or have more kids than their soldier can afford. Also, a lot are not faithful during the months or years of separation from their significant other and sometimes a soldier comes home to their wife pregnant with a child that is not his own. 

It's easy to see the amount of venom behind this woman's words last night.

I, however, proudly, but silently stand up next to my husband. I work one full-time admin job at a motorcycle dealership and a part-time sales job for True Religion Brand Jeans. I am an honor grad from an accredited university with a Bachelor's in Journalism, PR, and Advertising; I will soon be back in school for my Master's. I have NEVER asked my spouse to support me financially and I pay my own bills, as well as contribute to our join accounts and household income. I got married to my husband when I was 23-years-old and we have decided not to be tied down with kids until later in life. Ryan and I are instead proud parents to our two little guinea pigs, two parakeets, and ten koi fish. Another thing that separates me from this stereotypical vision of a military wife: I AM FAITHFUL. 

I do not walk around with camo purses with my husband's rank. I do not have any bedazzled t-shirts that say "Army Wife" on them. I don't brag about my husband being in the military--when people ask, I say he's a mechanic. When other military wives look down on me because I'm 23 with no kids, I just laugh to myself because I'm happy and living my own life the way I want. I don't go to the gossip-fest that is FRG (Family Readiness Group). I don't even go on base unless it is for groceries. My life with Ryan is probably the furthest away you can associate yourself from the military while still being married to it. I know countless women who live up to the negative connotation associated with the term "military wife," but I know many others who, like me, do their best to prove themselves to no one but their husbands.

I support my husband by washing and ironing his clothes, cleaning our home, cooking him meals, kissing him before bed, and by kissing him when he wakes up. I support him by warming up and applying a heat pad to his aching muscles after a long morning run. I support him by just listening to him when he needs someone to talk to. I support my husband by giving him a space away from the military to not be a soldier, but to

be himself. I support my husband by being the best wife and friend I can be. I've been through two deployments with him as my boyfriend and now one, 2-month training session with him as my husband . While it never gets any easier knowing he could be gone again at a moment's notice for God-only-knows how long, I treat each and every day like we're just two normal people in love. 

No rank. No camo. No Uncle Sam. I'm first and foremost a wife, just like any other wife... attaching "military" in front does not make me more special than my mother to my father, or my grandma to my grandpa. I'm only special to my husband and that's how it should be. 

So, what did I end up saying to this rude woman at the bar, with the rain sprinkling down, the torches on the beach dying low, and my husband sitting happily at my elbow? 

"Yes," I said. "I'm JUST a wife and my purse is just plain black." 

(Bottom left corner is a picture of my purse, thank you very much!!!)

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Why Living on an Island Sucks...

Aloha from the Rainbow State! I've been forced to endure a despicable misfortune over the last month that has prevented me from posting-- NO INTERNET.  I called the cable company. I unplugged and plugged that damn router back in a thousand and one times until I just gave up. I sat a brewed about the stupid situation for weeks which got me thinking about all the other things that I hate since being on the island. (I also HATE the fact that three minutes after my husband got home from training, he fixed the damn routers!!!)

1) If you thought Michigan was bad on being a "hormonal" state, you've got it wrong. In Hawaii, you could be just minding your own business, driving down the road in a 100% sun shiny day and BAM, fucking monsoon with people hydroplaning everywhere...

2) Which brings me to number two, LOCALS CANNOT DRIVE IN THE RAIN!!! Actually, people here cannot drive period and they have this phrase "Drive With Aloha." Well, I don't drive with aloha, you cut me off or do something stupid, I will let you know. I'm staring at the highway from my dealership window right now and there is a huge line backed up to get on to the main freeway because of a huge accident about 10 miles down the road. It's a stand still. Not to mention  someone almost ran me over a bridge this morning. Yep... don't rent a car here on O'ahu if you ever decide to visit. 

3) You're stuck on a fricking island. You can do all the things you want, but soon you've "been there, done that" and you get what the locals call "Island Fever," that insatiable itch to get out of here and go somewhere else. I'm already coming down with it. I can't just hop in the car and visit with family and friends... I have to spend over $1,000 for a plane ticket to get anywhere. And... it's a couple hundred bucks to fly just 15 minutes to another island. Pretty ridiculous. 

4) Speaking of ridiculous, the cost of living here SUCKS. Hawaii has the HIGHEST gas prices in the US. A gallon of milk can put you back $6 and there are no $5 foot longs here... try $7.50. My rent on a small, two bedroom town-home is $1,900 a month WITHOUT utilities! The unit two houses down from ours just sold for HALF A MILLION DOLLARS and it doesn't even have upgrades and it's not even beachfront property. Everything you buy is expensive because it has to be shipped here, unless you like pineapple... then you're OK. Yeah, living in paradise... not so cheap. 

5) There are regular power outages and internet failures. There is just under a million people who live on this island. At one point, O'ahu is only 36 miles across. It's really not that big. A whole lot of people accessing the grid all the time causes a lot of stress on the system. Hence, I was without internet for a month... one of the receivers on our routers was knocked out. 

6) COCKROACHES, big fat UGLY cockroaches. No matter how clean your house is or how expensive the hotel you're staying at is, EVERY building has cockroaches. The locals call them B-52 Bombers because of how big some of them can get. And, they fly at your face; it's a defense mechanism. Most of the time, the roaches like to stay in the ground and come out when it is cooler and dark at night, but when it rains, they like to squeeze themselves under your doors, through your window screens, down your air ducts, anywhere to try and get to a dry place. If you call an exterminator, they'll all tell you the same thing... they can kill the ones IN your home, but they can't kill the ones outside and when they want to get in, they will get in. Gross. 

7) Military exercises. I was kept up until 3am last night because the Army decided to do a night training. Almost every day at work, I have to shout at customer's because the jets are sonic booming (is that even a verb?) over the store. Nobody even reacts when they hear gunfire. Traffic can be held up because here is a ginormous tank driving down the middle of the road and it's top speed is 30mph. There are three to four Army bases, a Marine Base, a Navy base, and the Coast Guard plus countless other National Guard stations... Hawaii is the most fortified state I've seen. Everyone was freaking out about North Korea a month or so ago, but then they all remembered... Hawaii is more than capable of defending itself. 

8) Traffic. Traffic is FUCKING HORRIBLE. Remember what I said... under a million people on this island and you have to think at least ONE car per household with only THREE HIGHWAYS... that's a lot of traffic. There isn't anymore room to build more lanes and you can't tell people they can't have cars. The public transportation system is already one of the best in the country and yet you will sit in your car, at a dead standstill, for two hours during rush hour traffic. And when it's not rush hour, it's construction hour and you'll be stuck in traffic for that too, so basically... expect to spend at least two to three hours of your day stuck on the road. That's why people here think going 10 miles is "far"... because that could easily turn into a four hour commute. Where I live in Mililani is 16 miles from downtown Honolulu. When I used to work in Waikiki, people thought I lived FAR FAR AWAY. 

9) Local "pigeon." This is how the locals talk. You have Southern accents, Northern accents, Boston accents, etc and then your have pigeon which is without a doubt one of the hardest American accents to understand. I often think they are speaking another language. I'm not going to really put this as a "bad" thing, because the language Hawaiians do speak is very beautiful, but they get defensive if you say something wrong. For example, I pronounce the town of Kapolei as CAP-oh-LAY. It's actually pronounced "KAH-po-LAY." Likelike Highway is said "LEE-kah LEE-kah." Little things like that... oh the downside I wanted to point out is that unless you know how a pronounce a street name and know how it is spelled, you'll get lost. For sure. 100% guaranteed. 

10) Get ready for it... there is NO Applebee's, Olive Garden, Ikea, Home Goods, Michael's, Sonic, Five Guys, Red Robin, ect. The list goes on... get your fix on the "mainland" because there aren't a lot of stateside favorites here. 

11) Lastly, on a more serious note, there is a lot of discrimination. If you're not local, you shouldn't be here. Hawaii is the only state that had their own kings and queens and natives still believe the land belongs to them, NOT the United States. They are extremely protective of their culture, traditions, and customs. Once I was reading a news article that said a local high school was shut down because three huge fights broke out between Polynesians and Micronesians (for those of us who do not know what that means, these two terms are used to describe people who come from a chain of islands, for example, Hawaii and Samoa plus many other islands are a part of Polynesia). Anyways, I've experienced it first hand myself. I wasn't given a fair interview (I believe) for many jobs I applied to because I was not a "local"... I am a "mainlander." Hoale is the term people refer to most Caucasians around here. It simply means "white." 

However, even for it's faults, Hawaii is an absolutely beautiful place. As I know many of you would be visiting, you would hardly see any of the things I just mentioned, except an occasional cockroach or two. Every place has it's downfall and for as much as I complain about Hawaii, I'm very reluctant to see where my husband's military orders take us to next. *Sigh* 

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Just Another Soldier Reporting, Sir... I've Served My Time In Hell

Tonight, I am typing from the comfort of my bed, a comfort that a lot of service men and women go without. As you read this, I am hoping you look around you, at where you are, at who you are with, at what you have in your life and be thankful.

I had no idea that the Hawaiian sunshine would shed light on something that I didn’t not think too much about until today.  This afternoon, while sitting at my little desk at the dealership, I found out that a close soldier and friend to Ryan was admitted into a mental ward.  He was picked up by the police after they found him talking to a light pole.

I bet you just laughed. I bet you think this even is a little funny… no worries, because I did too. This kid had done a bunch of other things that other comrades and people shook their heads at behind his back. I had only really talked to him once back at Ryan’s Redeployment Ball. He seemed normal; he liked to talk about Boston, his hometown. He loved music and he wrote a few of his own songs. He was actually very kind to talk to.

A lot can change in a matter of a few months.

Ryan had told me he changed. I heard it whispered around other people that something wasn’t right. Weird, most of them said. Creeps me out, one woman said.

You hear about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Traumatic Brain Injury all the time when you’re in or around the military. The thing is, is that it is so HARD to tell who has it and who doesn’t. I will be the first to admit that I don’t know a shit about what our troops go through when they’re deployed.  Ryan shrugs off PTSD, he doesn’t believe in it. He thinks a lot of soldiers abuse it to get extra perks. You know, maybe he is right, but then again, I see the look he gets when he tells me the story about how a family in Iraq ran over an IED in their car and he watched, helpless, as they were burned alive. Another time I accidently saw some pictures Ryan had that someone took in the aftermath of their firefight in an Afghan village. Soldiers were grimly rummaging through bloodied, limbless bodies trying to identify them. Even now, when I close my eyes, I can see the image clearly. I can’t imagine what our troops go through over there, but I can imagine it is something a million times worse than what little pieces I do know.  I also know that there is no possible way someone can bury that all inside; Ryan has his moments, even if they are few and far in between.

 Today, I felt an immense guilt knowing this. Shame rose inside of me and I felt it like a black stain on my heart. You see, this soldier picked up by the police was supposed to be on a flight back home to the mainland. He had a mother and a father waiting for him. He had talked about possibly starting a music career. There was so much ahead of him, but bad decisions and a deteriorating mental state wound him up in a psych ward. There were so many signs, so many, and no one, not even me, read any of them. No one knew he needed help.

Sadly, this is the fate of many of our troops. I get so enraged when I see articles like “Was The Iraq War Worth It?” “Government Cuts Military Tuition Assistance.” “Army To Raise Health Care Premiums.” Seriously… what the fucking hell?? Was the Iraq war worth it? I don’t care if we ousted Saddam Hussein or the Easter Bunny, the men and women who fought that war are worth FIGHTING for. They are worth everything we can give them because they face internal demons every day. I know a guy who jumped from a fifth story building the second day he got back from Afghanistan to escape his ‘devils’. I know another one who suffers from insomnia and nightmares that leave him in cold sweats. One friend lost two family members when they all deployed at the same time. I know countless more that have lost close friends and family in war. Ryan wears his own bracelet with the name of a Marine who was is closest friend.

War touches us all.

I am not like our government. I will not give up on these wonderful people who sacrifice so much so we can sleep without worries in our bed tonight. I am going to visit Ryan’s soldier in the hospital. I stopped by the store and picked up some flowers so when I visit him, he’ll have some color and cheer in his room. He needs to know someone cares. He needs to know someone is there. Most of all, he needs to know he still matters. I am just trying to do what is right.

I know all my blog posts have been pretty somber the last few weeks, but this is an issue I just have to bring to light. When you see our men and women in uniform, thank them. Thank them from the bottom of your heart and mean it. Thank them for the sacrifices they have made, are making, and will make. Let them know you care. Maybe then, we can help heal one invisible wound one soldier at a time.

http://militaryminds.ca/

[latrodectus-blog]

Bones and Bullet Holes

It is a very solemn feeling when I drive back from work on my late nights. I close up the office around 7pm. I say good-night to Bill as he wheels in the last of the Ducati Monster 696+ABS' to the dealership floor from outside. I walk around the back of the shop to where Thrifty washes their rental cars with giant fans humming loudly to cool the workers while they detail a Corvette in the muggy night. It's a quick walk to my car. Sometimes, I get out early enough to see the purple and burnt orange blaze of dusk drip down across the mountains. 

I'm not even in the car five minutes before I start passing signs. 

"Pearl Harbor" one reads. Another one has a large arrow pointing south, "USS Arizona Mem." Soon I reach this one part of the highway, where even in the black that comes after sunset, I can still make out the cold, white stone that stands out like a ghost against the shallow water. 

Then... I start thinking....                                                         ~

It kind of seems out of place. There is a bridge right near it with cars traveling back and froth from Ford Island. Airplanes landing at the nearby airport, full of tourists, disturb the peace the surrounds the silent structure. There is a group of motorcycle enthusiasts that pass me doing 80 mph in a 65 while "popping a wheelie." It seems almost surreal that something so tragic happened here not so very long ago. 

I still can't fathom, on my late nights driving home, that the same places I work, and pass by, and see everyday were once covered in think, billowing smoke rising from the crippled USS Arizona. She once stood tall in the beautiful, turquoise harbor. Now, all anyone can see of her are her bones laying bare, hollow, and tragic along the ocean floor.

Arizona. 

I sometimes get chills when I drive down Kamehameha Highway by Waipio and I look out in front of me to great, gray ships docked in the harbor and I try to imagine planes baring the red rising sun in the sky.

I try to imagine Tripler Army Medical Center, a royal pink building built into the side of an emerald hilltop, and what it must have been like to receive hundreds of thousands of wounded men, women, and children on that Sunday morning. I work right in its shadow and it's hard to shake the feeling of being haunted by memories of that terrible Sunday. 

Ryan once took me to the actual Pearl Harbor. It's a joint base with Hickam, the Air Force base. He slowed down in his car as we passed very old, tan structures. Sailors walked by us on the sidewalk, their dark blue digital uniforms bright against the building. It was sunny out.

"Look," he pointed. I looked hard. It was difficult from the road, but I saw them--there are still bullet holes in the buildings from Japanese aircraft. I was silent as we drove by. 

                                                       ~ Once again, I closed up shop late tonight. Bill closes the dealership, as usual. Tonight he was with Calvin, a regular customer and a good friend. They were cleaning up the coffee area together, laughing and talking.  "You OK, Bill?" I asked.  "Yes, Cassandra, you can go. Thank you. See you tomorrow." He has a thick Hawaiian/Japanese accent. It's hard to tell which one he really has. He always wears a printed Hawaiian shirt and today it was even adorned with an American flag. I smile. I wave. I walk out the door. I go to my car, throw my bags into the passenger seat, start it up, and drive. 

I get to the signs. "Arizona" "Pearl Harbor"... and tonight I didn't even try to think about this or about that. It's like something hit me. Something came into my mind that wasn't mine... a memory. Call me crazy, but I drove down H1 in the twilight and when I saw the resting place, the Arizona and her bones across the floor...and I simply remembered everything.