Justin's Pacific Blog: Pohnpei: Final Reflections (9 Months Later):

Preface: At the beginning of my time on Pohnpei, I thought I did a decent job of updating this blog; I was eager to share every single thought and every single moment of my Pohnpei experience. And while the same can be said about my time on Hawai'i and Guam, Pohnpei held a special place in my heart (and DNA) that made my enthusiasm to share my experience that much greater. It was a new place that I wanted to share with everyone.

But as time went on and I became more accustomed and comfortable with Pohnpei, the experience became much more personal. While I still wanted to share and update, I didn't devote as much time to updated JPB.

My plan was to post a reflective and insightful conclusion of my time on Pohnpei, but that never happened. My laptop broke down, I spent more time outside of Kolonia, and I just quit updating. The following post will be the reflective, insightful conclusion of my trip. I feel it is much different today than it would have been if I would have posted it on my last days on the island. My memories are less vivid now, 9 months later. However, there are still parts of my experience that are, in a sense, me.

Final Reflections: The purpose of my trip to Pohnpei was much more about discovering and exploring that side of my heritage than having fun on a tropical island. I really wanted to learn what it means to be Pohnpeian: the culture, language, daily life, etc. Even more than those aspects, I was in search of something unknown. I was in search of some sort of enlightenment, insight, or perspective that I was certain would appear to me as an epiphany one unsuspecting afternoon.

The only problem in searching for an epiphany is that there is no spontaneity, nothing unexpected. So instead of being hit with a waterfall of perspective one day, I was showered with it daily. Living and existing in a world completely different than my own helped me to understand exactly what kind of life I had. It uncovered all those things in life that I take for granted: privacy, electricity, running water, food, etc. For example, I learned about the value of food and the value of a variety of food; I pretty much ate rice with tuna, chicken, or pig every meal.

It is hard for me now, as I write this, to remember everything I learned. As I have become reaccustomed to the life I lead here, my perspective has almost completely dried up. In fact, it really isn't until I revisit my old posts that I am fully reminded of my just-learned perspective. I try the best I can to practice the lessons learned while on Pohnpei. I don't like to be wasteful with food, water, or electricity. I remember some evenings in Pohnpei not having electricity - electricity is pre-paid (like cell phone minutes), so once you have used up what you paid for you have to go buy more. We had to conserve energy the best we could, and this usually meant not using any during the day. I feel that this sort of conservatism is instilled in me; I try to turn off lights when I leave a room, turn of the TV when I'm not using it, etc. So while I didn't come to any life-altering understanding, I started to see things and enjoy things in a different light from my day-to-day experiences.

As far as my heritage: Did I discover my roots? More than I could have ever imagined. It seemed a daily occurrence that I met family. Whether it be at a restaurant, gas station, or just family stopping by Aunt Judy's house (where I stayed in Kolonia), I met family. In doing so, I learned where my family came from, where they are, and where they are going. I would have my Grandma explain to me how each person was related, and this explanation was often accompanied by stories of what he/she does, who his/her parents are, etc.

Some of my family members I got to know better than others. Of course, I stayed with my Aunt Judy, Uncle Sosarrio & their kids Stephanie, Chubby, Stargel (pictured right) and Arrwo. I interacted with them daily and really got to know their personalities and who they were. I also got to know Angela (although I am unsure if she is a distant aunt or cousin). I spent a lot of time at the cafe where she works and also spent a few nights out at her house in U. And then there was the family in Kitti. While they were only family through marriage, their hospitality, warmness, and genuine sincerity is something I will never forget. I spent a lot of time living with them and thus was able to really get to know them. I'll never forget my afternoons swimming with the children in the river or playing basketball. I'll never forget eating with Grandma, Mooka and Judis & co., or sleeping side-by-side on the floor with this people. When I was in Kitti, they became my family.

It should be of no surprise to me know just how much family I met; Pohnepi, and, more specifically, Mwokilloa are small islands, relatively speaking. On top of that, because there are three kinship groups (immediate family, extended family, and clan) on the island, the word "family" encompasses a large amount of people. So even if it was an 8th cousin through the clan line (matrilineal), they are still family and should be treated as so. Of course I didn't understand this upon arrival, and so upon searching for my roots (or just hanging out) I really discovered that my family tree was enormous and contained many roots.

I also discovered the roots of a local pepper plant in Sakau (prepared left). I miss the "clank" of the sakau being pounded and how relaxing the sound was. I miss the mouth-numbing, peaceful feeling I got from drinking sakau. Of course I didn't drink sakau for its narcotic effects. Sakau is a defining part of Pohnpeian culture. Sakau is so distinctly Pohnpeian that I wanted to drink it. When I drank sakau, I felt Pohnpeian.

At the conclusion of my trip, I wanted to feel like I became more Pohnpeian. Did this happen? Yes and no. I had the opportunity to stay with family throughout my whole Pacific trip, so instead of staying in hotels and living like a tourist, I got to live like a local (somewhat) on each island - although much, much more so on Pohnpei than Guam or Hawai'i. This meant I got to live like a Pohnpeian: I slept on a mat on the floor; I ate with my hands; sometimes I showered by scooping rain water out of an ice chest with a pan; I used the bathroom in an outhouse when necessary. I felt much more like a Pohnpeian than, say, the diver I met who was staying at the Village Hotel. He still got all the amenities afforded by staying in a hotel. He was, as my Aunt Kimiya has said, "in the lap of luxury", relatively speaking. And compared to my Pohnpeian-ness (for lack of a better term) before my trip, I felt much more Pohnpeian. Indeed, I learned much more about the culture and what it meant to be Pohnpeian in the every-day-sense.

At the same time, I began to feel more American. I realized that in the here and now (or there and then) I was living and acting like a Pohnpeian, but that isn't the way I have lived or will have lived upon my departure (and, indeed, it is not how I live now). It's not that my desire for Pohnpei or my connection with it had diminished - in fact it had manifested exponentially - but, rather, I realized that I am more American than I had previously thought. The way I think and live is much different than the way a Pohnpeian thinks and lives. This should be of no surprise, I grew up in America. In fact, I would say my Dad is more American than Pohnpeian now because he has been living and assimilating in the U.S. for years. This isn't a judgment about which life is better or worse, it is just the way I felt.

Nostalgia hit me hard this winter. Having to endure sub-zero temperatures and months of grey and snow left me hopelessly craving the island I loved from the moment I stepped out of the Pohnpei International Airport (and into the bed of a pick-up truck). The days since my visit have long passed, and unfortunately I have forgotten many of the names, places, and events that made my trip the best experience of my life. But I am thankful for having the opportunity to fulfill a dream I'd had my entire life, and I hold dearly those memories I still have: Memories of seeing Nan Madol and all of its megalithic glory; Memories of snorkeling with reef sharks and manta rays; Memories of swimming in rivers and under waterfalls; Memories of sitting and talking with my Grandma as we took turns pouring pan-fulls of water over ourselves in search of any sort of relief from the heat and humidity. I could go on and on.