Aloha Sayulita

Los colores de Sayulita--

the oranges of oranges, purples of plums, 

yellows of piñas, 

the azul of the sea--

the vibrance pulls you in, 

as you float through streets 

that both buzz and 

bliss. 

The warm smile of a sun-kissed stranger

greets the warm waves

of sun-kissed waters.

They carry you, as if walking 

in a dream.

Even the dogs are free, 

happy

and bellies full.

Because in Sayulita, 

the love--el amor--

doesn't set with the sun. 

xx

Lika

i'm back...again

I've been a writer since before I can remember, having kept a journal ever since my pre-school Hello Kitty diary. Not that I had much to say back then. Recently, I read an entry from 3rd grade..."I like Dustin. He's cute." Next entry: "I don't like Dustin anymore. I like the new kid, Shawn." I quickly stopped reading before I got into the juicy (embarassing) pre-teen entries...

Naturally, my writing grew to have a bit more depth over the years. But as I ventured into my late 20s, and now early 30s, life took over. The gaps in my journal entries went from days and weeks, to months and years.

Luckily, I've spent the last 10 years in a marketing career that filled those holes with lots of business writing opportunities. For the past two years as the Content Marketing Manager for a large B2B company, writing has been a huge part of my job. Still, there's quite a different sense of accomplishment from completing a case study for a luxury retail client versus penning poetry, free style prose, or opinions about the going-ons of this crazy beautiful world.

Fortunately, I have the outlet for both. In an effort to not take that opportunity for granted, I humbly venture back into creative writing--and welcome you to join me for the ride! xx

//

For a sneak peek of what's to come, check out some of these posts from the past:
The City of Art, Food, and Brotherly Love
Letting Go
Not Beautiful or Remarkable Things, Just Things
From Where the Sun Will Rise

Irmalee Louise Jones Walker

 

 

I first met my grandma before I was old enough to start forming memories. She and my auntie Janice flew out to Hilo, Hawai'i when I was just about two weeks old. She loved telling me the story again and again about how during their stay, at dinner the entertainment host asked for the oldest person in the room to come up to the stage. Then when he asked for the youngest, Janice stood and lifted me up and said, "Here she is!"

Looking back, I think the reason my grandma loved telling me that story so much is because that was the moment that Irmalee Louise Jones Walker - already a devoted wife and mother of four, a retired career woman and former mayor, a true friend and dear sister, a community servant and all around beautiful class act of a lade - that was the moment she became what she always made me to feel, was the proudest role of her life - a grandma! You see, from the moment she flew across an ocean 30 years ago to welcome her first grandchild to the world, to her move to Bishop after my cousin Ali was born, to her final trip to Hawai'i for my sister's doctoral graduation - she devoted the later part of her life to making sure us granddaughters knew just how much we were loved.

She and my grandpa came to Kona every spring during my childhood for us to spend Spring Break with them. They taught us how to swim, how to play cribbage, gin, hearts, poker... "Ante and you won't be so rich," my grandpa would always say.

My sister and I were fortunate enough to also spend summers in California with our grandparents, first in Bellflower, then later in Bishop. It was in Bishop that at the age of 14 my grandma took me for my first driving lesson. "Just don't tell your grandpa," she said. "This is against the law."

My grandmother taught us how to cook, how to sew, how to play the piano. I distinctly remember the day she sat us down at the dining room table and spent an hour showing us which utensils went where and the proper way to pass the serving plates.

More significantly though, she and my grandpa taught us the importance of an education, the importance of independently following your dreams, and most of all, the importance of family. When I look around at my sister and cousin, my dad and my aunties, not only have we all graduated from college, traveled the world, and went off to do whatever called each of us, but through it all we have remained a unit. We laugh together, cry together, get in incredible arguments and debates like only a Walker knows how - yet still, always a family. And for that I am eternally grateful to both my grandmother and grandfather.

Today, we honor Irmalee Louise Jones Walker and the legacy she left behind. Where ever you are, grandma, you should be very proud. I know I am.

(from Memorial Service April 11, 2015)

rise in peace

in the aftermath of friday's tragedy in isla vista, as a ucsb alumni and former resident of the small town, i've been overcome with a lack of words to attach to this tremendously sad happening. as a true believer in signs, however, i knew exactly what i wanted to say when i heard of maya angelou's passing on the radio this morning. the poet and activist was and is my inspiration to write and to commit to peace. in honor of her, of the fallen ucsb students, and of those who fall victim to hate, i share one of maya angelou's most famed poems, and ask that in peace, we all rise.

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

- Maya Angelou
April 4, 1928 - May 28, 2014

my best friend's birthday

dear elena,

i still have the journal you sent with me when i left to college!

in the opening letter you said "i want you to write about all the raging nights, hook ups, bummers, horny thoughts, irritating roommates, and day dreams you have in santa barbara, and always start your entry off as dear elena, so when you come back we can read it together..."

my first entry back to you on the plane to cali in aug 2003:

"this is so hard, man. i always wondered about this day and would day dream about this hot local boy i would leave behind. but i finally get it. i was meant to be a friend in high school. it has taught me how to love and even how not to. i feel so content right now. my best friends were who i was meant to see off. you see, you guys all had boys to give your hearts to. i got to love you girls. i wouldn't change it for anything."

--

you have been one of my very very best friends for over 10 years. my beautiful, crazy, free spirit of a sister. a love like ours doesn't come around in every life time. i hope this day brings you all the luck, love, and light you've given me over the years!

be gooood :)

take me back...

 

waikiki. wailoa. puueo. mauna kea. kona. HILO.

--

the colors, the breeze, the swaying of the trees. the peace, the ease, and the warmth of the water. i know home will always be there. and i know i will always go back.

here i go again...

things are always changing. we know this. though, it often takes a big change to actually get our attention. this time last year i was certain that by now i would be moved back to hawai'i and enrolled in UH manoa's creative writing MA program. it was the only program i applied to, the only place i wanted to be; it was the everything into which i had been pouring all my energy. the application, i thought, was the easy part. it was saying goodbye to santa barbara that would be hard. i spent the next five months saying my mental farewells; enjoying the last birthday i'd celebrate here; appreciating my final spring on the central coast; tying up the decade i had spent here.

then things changed.

i couldn't be sure it wasn't a cruel joke, as my mom read me my rejection letter over the phone. but it was true, i didn't get in. everything i had been planning for years had come to a sudden halt. and the saddest part, so did my writing. as the reality of my rejection sunk in, my desire to write sunk even deeper. no matter how i felt, i just couldn't find the words.

it's been about five months now since i've had enough motivation to step out of my writing rut. maybe i made peace with being in santa barbara longer. maybe my recent trip to hawai'i made me realize home would always be there.

maybe enough time had passed.

whatever the reason, i finally realized, if i let another five months go by without practicing the craft, i could no longer call myself a writer. and that was a change that i wouldn't be able to accept.

so here i go again, as i attempt to give you a glimpse of life through my eyes, with my words. for those of you who stuck by me, thanks for awaiting my return.

i write for you.

xx
lika