The Ultimatum

Fourth Weekly Observation Entry: November 11, 2014 #Sadface

My cousin told Lubdig, "If you're gonna be serious about volleyball and play club, you're gonna have to quit hula". I swear her heart broke a little. Tears formed in her eyes. I could tell she was trying not to blink. Hoping that dreadful teardrop symbolizing her emotions would not stream down her reddened cheeks. Being the over-emotional sister, my eyes began to mimic hers. But I did not hesitate to blink. It seemed like my teardrop scared hers away, because after she saw my face, all traces of emotion disappeared. She was numb.

She tried out for the NNJ volleyball club on November 1 and made the team. She was so excited, not knowing the ultimatum she had walked into.

We grew up in a family of professional volleyball coaches and volleyball players. Lyric started playing the sport in intermediate school on Maui at Maui Waena intermediate, then at Obrien Middle School here. Now she is a freshman and has just finished the season playing for Wooster. My cousin, the woman we live with, was a hardcore volleyball player on Maui. Her parents coached her and she has been coaching Lyric. My uncle, whom I also live with, was also a hardcore volleyball player on Maui. They both have coached and they are extremely hard on Lyric. They want the best for her just like I do.

             We have also grown up in a family of passionate hula dancers. Lubdig and I have been dancing forever. When Lyric was younger, she would beg to join a hula halau (hula group), but we never found the right one. I would often find her mimicking our older cousins dancing hula. I saw the wonder in her eyes twinkle with delight. The eagerness in her hand movements as she tried to mirror the beautiful dancers.

When she was given the ultimatum, I knew it would be hard for her. She was more upset than she was sad. She thinks she has a good poker face, but I can see through any and all of her facades. She confines her emotions behind her bedroom door for the rest of the week.

My aunt told her that she could try to balance both. That if she really pushes herself, she could go to her volleyball practices and I could teach her what we learned at hula during the week. But she ignored the offer, blinded by shock and doubt.

But I know she will find her way out of the numbness.

The Glancing Mr. Macho

Fifth Weekly Observation Entry: November 21, 2014 #SocialAnxiety4Days

          Lubdig says “bruh” a lot. In a Mr. Macho kind of way. She looks around a lot too. She doesn’t exactly stare, but she glances. At what? Well, I’m not sure. We usually get dropped off at school around 7:20 a.m. So it’s just Lyric and me in the mornings, and she’s typically draggy. But as soon as people start piling into school, I catch her glancing again. I try to follow her gaze but she changes her direction so rapidly, I often lose track. It’s like her mind is always running aimlessly.

          I try to imagine what it’s like in Lyric's mind. I wonder if it’s colorful or dull. I wonder if there are clouds, or rainbows, or just a pile of nothingness. (I remember when she was younger, she’d always tell me about her blank dreams.) Or maybe she just thinks about math all day. I guess I’ll never know. And I guess I’m okay with that.

          On November 15, at around 9:45 a.m. during hula, I caught her glancing again. This time she didn’t look so flustered. She wasn’t glancing rapidly. She looked calm and peaceful, watching her hands move like our Kumu (teacher)  tells us to do, focused on the rhythmic beat of the ‘ipu (gourd used as musical implement). We both danced in the front. It was the beginner’s class. We call it “Papa Ohi’a Lehua”, which literally means, “bud of a flower class”. It symbolizes what stage they are in to becoming a hula dancer. The bud is the beginning, the foundation. In this class you work on making your foundation pa’a (firm). My sister and I are in “Hula ‘Olapa”. This class is for the students who have blossomed into hula dancers.

          Lyric loves hula. She always has and always will. She is very passionate about it. Our Kumu says that hula is not a hobby. It is a way of life. True hula dancers live and breathe hula. My sister was that passionate about hula before she even started to dance. When she’s not thinking, like this day, she dances with such grace. While we are practicing “Puamana” her mind is at ease. She sways silently to the strum of the ‘ukulele. Like the ocean on a warm sunny day, she is calm and collected.                

                

          I never knew she could be this composed.

          I continued to observe her now and then as we’re practicing our hula. I start to wonder why she can’t be like this at school. According to my aunt, rapid glancing is a form of fidgeting. And fidgeting can be a sign of insecurity. I never took Lubdig as the insecure and sensitive type. She was always Mr. Macho- compared to me anyways. I didn’t really believe my aunt, so I went to another trusted source.

          Google. 

          I typed in the search engine, “What does it mean when you glance a lot?” which led me to another reliable cite, WebMD. This is where I found that staring, or in Lyrics case glancing, has a lot to do with social anxiety. Then I thought, what the heck is that? I then found an article entitled, “What is Social Anxiety Disorder?” Perfect. It stated that, “Social anxiety disorder, also called social phobia, is an anxiety disorder in which a person has an excessive and unreasonable fear of social situations. Anxiety (intense nervousness) and self-consciousness arise from a fear of being closely watched, judged, and criticized by others.”

         I suppose Mr. Macho has a few soft spots. That’s great news though. I was starting to think she was too apathetic. That it might be too late to save her from 30 years of cats and Chinese take-out. (Just kidding Lube.) But on a serious note, I was quite shocked by the data I’ve collected.

I also came to a conclusion to why she is the way she is when she dances hula. I think she has molded hula into her own personal dome. A safe haven. When she dances hula, she is whole. She doesn’t fidget or worry about people looking at her. It’s like breathing, beautifully necessary. When Lubdig dances, she gets so lost in her hula that glancing constantly or just thinking seems unnecessary. 

Works Cited

Goldberg, Joseph. “What is Social Anxiety Disorder?” WebMD.

          13 Feb 2014. Web. 21 Nov 2014.  

Huffington Post. “Let Your Worries Wash Away With These Calming Ocean
          Waves.” Huffington Post. 25 Jan 2014. Web. 21 Nov 2014.

Lubdigs Last Home Game

Third Weekly Observation Entry: November 10, 2014 #BeautifulDay

          On Tuesday, October 29^th was Lubdigs’ last home game. They played Carson. It was at 3:45 as usual, but today was different. I typically go to her game right after school and wait for an hour, but instead I went to the boy’s soccer game in the meantime. I didn’t have money so I hopped the fence. I wasn’t paying attention and ended up having to run to the gym.

          I made it just on time.

          I saw her on the court. But she couldn’t see me yet. They were warming up for their game. Her hair was in a ponytail. She twisted the front part of her hair to the right side like she always does. Her blonde tips were in loose curls dangling over the tip of her spine. She looked short. But she’s taller than me by about half an inch. And she’ll never let me forget it. While examining my little sister, I noticed how brown she is. Compared to the girls on her team, she was the darkest of them all. And suddenly, as I was pondering this random comparison, I caught a glimpse of her face.

          For the first time, I saw worry in her darkish-lightish brown eyes. She thought no one was going to show up for her big game. The tension in her glances at the crowd made me feel like the worst sister ever. But soon after, my entire family piled into the gym and I felt a sense of relief disperse into the air around her. I scurried to our little cheering section and the buzzer buzzed, indicating the start of the game. My cousin looked at me and said, “It’s about… To go… Down.”

          I painted my face that day. I had one of my friends draw her name and number with eyeliner. It was weird, since no one really does anything special for freshman teams. (Especially if they haven’t won many games.) But I love my sister, and I hoped to have proved it that day. She smiled at me when she saw it, so that was a good indicator.

          Lube is number 32. She plays in the back row as libero. The libero is the person who digs the balls. My family nicknamed her “Floor Whore” because she’s always sliding on the court and stealing her teammates balls. But she’s okay with it because it suits her well. Especially that night, she really gave it her best.

          I’ve never seen her dig so many balls before. She was everywhere. Her team really pushed themselves that game. I was cheering her on more than usual that day. I almost lost my voice, but she say’s she doesn’t recall hearing me at all. (Goddamn vocal chords aren’t strong enough.) But I was very proud of my sister. Even though they lost in 2 sets, it was a very close game. I was even more proud about how she handled their loss. On our ride home, she usually gets out all her emotions about their loss, and how disappointing it was, and how it could’ve been better. But today, she was content. Her actual words were, “You know, I think we played pretty good today. I’m not even mad that we lost.”

          I was shocked to hear the world’s biggest critic actually feeling proud of what her and her team had done. And it wasn’t just a great day for her; it was a pretty great day for me as well. For the first time ever, she hugged me after her volleyball game. In front of civilians!

          All in all, Tuesday, October 29^th of 2014 was a beautiful day.