From Quarterlife Crisis to Identity Crisis

I've been thinking a lot about identity lately and what it means when you finally take a look at yourself and realize that you're no longer the person you once thought you were or were always going to be.  For me, this really breaks down into two main facets: where I come from (physically), and where I come from (ethnically).

Being from Hawaii and being native Hawaiian is an incredible thing because the place I grew up is also where I can trace my ethnic identity.  It's where my people come from.  It's where they fought ancient battles and had their religious ceremonies, it's where they were colonized and turned into second-class citizens.  The land itself is intrinsically connected to the native Hawaiian culture, religion, way of life.  And with that identity comes this responsibility -- driven into me by my education at a private boarding school for native Hawaiian kids -- to give back, to serve my community, to make a difference as a native Hawaiian for native Hawaiians.

The thing is...I left.  Ever since I was a little girl I knew I was going to leave one day.  It was something I looked forward to, this opportunity to see the world and experience something so very different from the sand box that was Hawaii to me.  And so when I was 18, I lit out of there as fast as I could and I didn't look back.  I could do that because in my head and my heart, I was always headed back there eventually.  I didn't know when -- it's gone from moving back in my late twenties to early thirties to early forties to when I finally retire -- but I was going to move "home" one day.

And that idea of Hawaii being "home" has been the reason that was possible.  You see, Hawaii is a beautiful place, but it's not an easy place to live as an outsider.  If you don't belong, you're made to feel that way.  It's a very insular community, whether that's admitted or not.  And for the longest time, I knew I belonged to that community, I knew I belonged to Hawaii.  But lately, that's changed.  Over the passed couple of years, little things have been happening to make me acknowledge the fact that...maybe I don't belong to it anymore.  For the most part, those little things have been external, they've been things that have been said to me by others, or the ways others have made me feel.  Because I'm beginning to be treated like an outsider by my own community.  My skin isn't dark enough anymore; my accent isn't thick enough; I'm educated so I think I'm better than everyone; I don't speak my language or practice traditional native Hawaiian culture so I don't understand its needs; I've been gone so long that I don't know Hawaii anymore.  And as recently as yesterday, one of my closest friends treated me like I wasn't native Hawaiian, I hadn't grown up there, I didn't have a clue about how to help with the issues we face, and I therefore had no right to try and serve my community.

And I know I shouldn't let anyone tell me who I am, but sometimes that's easier said than done.

So all of this just got me thinking about who I am now, and if I ever truly want to go home again.  It seems like a simple enough thing -- people move away from home all the time.  But, for me, the question of where I live, where I consider home, is so wrapped up in who I was taught to be, who I thought I was, the responsibilities I was told were mine.

And I just don't know anymore.