Postcards from Hawaiʻi
Written by Sarah Jewett
Linguistics students at Laupāhoehoe Beach Park on Hawai’i Island. From left to right: Julia Vold, Julia Levine, Sarah Karnes, Aaní Perkins, and Gabriel Gilbert. Not pictured: Sarah Jewett, Jess Karson, Samiha Datta, Lucy Biberman. Photo courtesy of author.
Aloha e Dartmouth,
It’s not good writing to begin with a reference to a Tumblr post, but sometimes that’s the best reference to make. Years ago, I saw a Tumblr post that said that life is not a novel, not a continuous, building narrative with an established plot, climax, and ending. This anonymous user posited instead that life is a book of poems, some short, long, funny, sad, some haikus and some epics. That random advice stuck with me, comforting me as I watched the course of my life meander and halt and fork off.
What does your collection of poetry look like? I think mine looks like the box of postcards that collect dust on my bookshelf. Resting on the bottom of the box are postcards my dad would send me on business trips, one with a recipe for Maryland crabcakes and another with a Florida palm tree. In the middle are postcards I started to collect for myself – the Outer Banks of North Carolina, the New Mexico state flag from a road trip southwest, Baker Tower. Each postcard is a snapshot of a moment, for my family, friends, for me.
This program in Hawai‘i skims the top of the postcard stack. Due to the quick turnaround in pivoting this anthropology and linguistics study program from Aotearoa (New Zealand) to Hawai‘i, much of our experience has felt chaotic, last-minute. Without cars, it’s tough to navigate the islands; without meal plans, we’re finding our way to grocery stores with high island prices; we’re struggling for elbow room in a group of 22 students turned 9, once anthropology and linguistics split mid-program.
Despite these unknowns and discomfort, this term has provided me opportunity for outside-the-classroom learning and time to reflect unheard of in a typical Dartmouth term. On O‘ahu, we visited a traditional Hawaiian fish pond on U.S. Navy property, volunteered pulling invasive algae from Maunalua Bay, planted endemic plants in the western mountains, and spoke with Hawaiian non-profit leaders. On Hawai‘i (Big Island), we’ve taken an immersion Hawaiian language course, performed field-work language documentation with Micronesian speakers, hiked in a native lava forest, and we’re planning a trip to summit Mauna Kea (the tallest mountain in the world from the sea-floor). I’ve been asked to name ancestors I carry with me into sacred spaces and to consider my own impact as a guest on Hawaiian land.
Sunrise at Diamondhead Crater, O’ahu. Photo courtesy of author.
Sunset at Mauna Kea Visitor Center, looking west towards Maui, Hawai’i Island. Photo courtesy of author.
Listing each of these experiences are their own postcard, their own picture-perfect snapshot memory. My Hawaiian postcards don’t look like a fetishized hula practitioner or a misspelled Hawaiian no‘eau (proverb). Mine look like a whale breaching off the shore. An ōhi‘a flower blossom, spiky and red. Poke Hawaiian-style, with ahi tuna, limu seaweed, sushi rice, and kukui nut. An orange straight from the tree, dripping with sweet juice. A rooster crowing outside my window. Each bus-stop on our route in O‘ahu. My handwriting on the classroom blackboard, introducing myself in Hawaiian (‘O Sarah ko‘u inoa!). The sweet-smelling dirt surrounding the coconut tree we planted. The pinky orangey sunset from a hilltop off Saddle Road on Big Island. Sticky melted lilikoi sorbet trickling down my hand.
Menu at Magic Pineapple Shack, Hilo, HI. Photo courtesy of author.
Homecoming 2019. Photo courtesy of author.
As much as my instinct is to make this experience singular, special, my study-abroad experience, these postcard memories flip through my mind as easily as my Hanover memories. Fists in the air as we shout along to Mr. Brightside at the Lodj on Trips. Sitting at a light-side booth in Foco for a little too long. My breath fogging as I trudge through dimly lit snowy sidewalks. The big wooden table in my Latin class, everyone bent over their books. The view of campus from Baker Tower, foliage peeking through the mountains Homecoming freshman fall. Film Society Zoom chats during the pandemic, laughing along to the movie. Swinging on the Chi Delt porch swing. Stopping along Frat Row on an on-night to talk to friends on my way from the library. The green of all the trees in the summer.
I have so many more thoughts on the wonderful people and places I’ve met in Hawai‘i that could be rounded together for another time, but right now what I’m left with is a renewed gratitude not just for this opportunity to travel but for all the terms I’ve had at Dartmouth. Realizing that this one term is not above and beyond “better” than any (in-person) term I’ve had before was so reassuring – I have had a meaningful college experience, despite all the turmoil. In Hawai‘i we’ve talked a lot about how every place we visit and touch is sacred here, and I’ve thought about how that means every place I’ve ever lived is sacred to someone. We must do our best to respect the land we’re on and how we interact with it, including valuing the land we live on (Dartmouth) just as highly as your hometown or anywhere you visit.
Kapolei is special. Hilo is special. Hanover is special. Charlotte, North Carolina is special; Virginia Beach, Virginia is special. Each place contributes to my book of poems, my stack of postcards. And I’m so ready to get back to campus in the spring and live my last four on-terms so, so fully.
Mahalo nui loa, Sarah Jewett
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