The last country.

A year ago, I was living in Germany. It's easy to forget, perhaps, as time has a way of buffering down the details. In two weeks I'll embark on my final journey, back to the small town of Wassenberg where it all began. In the heart of my last goodbyes, I'll be taking the first steps towards a conclusion by sealing away the introduction.

The final flight, the last country. Germany completes the circle.

Too pensive to be healthy.

Would you blame me if all entries henceforth go on about me leaving Europe and returning to Hawaii? What I'm doing, going back home to finish my schooling, is the correct decision. My future can not progress towards my ideals without a degree. Still, that big step forward also doubles as that big step away. As frequently as I've had to say goodbye to people and places, I'm no better at it than I was to start out with. Contrary to how I may behave, I am sentimental and I get attached. Like a starfish that is so rooted to a spot, I have difficulty leaving a place once I set my feet down. And yet, without constant motion I would starve, always hungry for the places I haven't been. A nomad I may be, but my heart falls in love with everything it sees - a rather painful way of life at times, perhaps, but worth it. Passion, in the end, is never short at hand.

As of late, I've allowed myself to drift into a state of melancholy, sending sad eyes to buildings and street signs, trying to embed their images into the part of my mind that is capable of remembering. Then, as if to protect their feelings, I always add, "I'll be back and we'll see each other again." I do this in part because I believe it to be true, so much so that the sentence might as well be fact. I will return as my business here is unfinished. I have yet to experience Vienna, Prague, Budapest, Warsaw, the entirety of Greece, Portugal and Denmark. In truth, I have barely scratched the surface of Europe. With so much left to learn, it would be impossible to stay away.

I have friends here and family too, and memories of experiences that have shaped my life. The truth is that I'm not the same person who arrived here heartbroken and dejected in 2008. I owe much of who I am to this continent and those who have taken me into their hearts. Saying goodbye this time will be more complex than any other farewell I have ever given. Am I prepared? No. Will I ever be?

Likely not.

Pack Attack

There are less than four weeks until I return home to Hawaii, and yet, the fate of my possessions has still gone unsettled. It can only be natural that after a year and a half of living abroad, one would accumulate at least twice as much as they arrived with. I am the exception - I have accumulated three times that amount.

I've done what research I could and found an affordable alternative to shipping my heavier goods. How I have accumulated so many books is beyond the capacity of my memory. What you see below are just the ones that made the cut.

So, by Wednesday, my travel books will be doing what they do best and I'll be twenty-seven days behind them. Gradually, the shelves will become bare, the walls will get naked and I'll be left in a room with high ceilings and four obese suitcases.

This is where you tell me I have too much hair.

Dance like you're in a circus.

You don't realize you've never been to a circus until someone asks if you've ever been to a circus. As a first time circus goer, I thought I'd make a little documentary of my night under the big top



All in all, great fun, and if you can't view the video, click HERE!

All I can think about is how afraid I am of returning home.

Moving back to Hawaii feels like a break-up and I don't know if I'll be able to handle the distance.

Nobody knows what I am

I'm referring to ethnic ambiguity. When you're half Japanese and half white, you could very well get away with being any race depending on the context.

I know my existence confuses people. We meet and their eyes attempt to process exactly what they see, but it's difficult because I share traits with both the east and west sides of the world. If I'm surrounded by white Europeans then I'm Chinese, which was demonstrated to me by a girl who, ten minutes after meeting me, asked, "So where are you from? China?" I was taken aback of course, being that my English had distinct traces of an American accent, but I was willing to overlook her automatic assumption. Afterall, there are only thirty seven countries in Asia, all of which possess a different nationality of people, so how could I blame her for picking the biggest one first.

Then, when I was in the United Arab Emerates, which is technically more Asia than Europe and yet still somewhere in between, I was once asked if I was "Red Indian." A quick image search in Google shows me only one picture of a female Red Indian:

Now, if there are two things to be learned from this, let it be these:

1. I do not look like that.

2. If Google has only one picture of a Red Indian, then it's highly unlikely that you've ever actually seen a Red Indian. Therefore, the only conclusion I can come up with is that I look so foreign to you that you feel the need to compare me to an endangered ethnic community.

But the most interesting verdict that people have come to is in some ways more sensical. In fact, this is the situation that happens most frequently. It usually begins with me talking to myself, saying something daft like, "I wish I were the niece of King Midas' second cousin from Japan so that I could turn everything I touch into rice... God, I'm so Asian." At the mention of me being Asian, conversation will stop, all heads will turn and someone will bravely ask, "You're Asian?"

This is the part of the story where time freezes and I feel the need to reassess who I am, where I am and who exactly these people are. Yes, I'm Asian, I'm in my apartment and I obviously don't know these people well enough. At this point I can clarify the misunderstanding by asking, "Of course I'm Asian, what did you think I was?"

The answer they give is brilliant: Hawaiian. "I've never seen anybody from Hawaii before so I just assumed you were Hawaiian." And you have to admit, that makes a lot of sense. How is anyone supposed to know that there's a distinct difference between me and a true, ethnic Hawaiian? How are they supposed to know that I am the epitome of straight-up Haole? If not Hawaiian, then what else could I be?

The truth is that there's no way to know. Chalk me up to being a half breed, a mutt, whatever you can think of and I'll take it as long as it still retains some semblance to what I actually am: JapaneseGermanIrishScottishWelsh.

Okay fine, just Hapa.

That's not Italian.

It's a well-known fact that I am incapable of being constant so this shouldn't be a surprise.