Running on Island Time


Grand Central Station on a weekday afternoon.

Though I’ve lived on Guam for a long time, I still haven’t been able to run on island time.  Island time, depending on who you ask, could mean 15 minutes late or 1 hour late.  It just depends.   For example, nine in the morning could easily means nine fifteen or nine thirty.  Whatever time applies, you didn’t need to get there right away and its okay if you arrive a little later than usual.   Basically, its just an unrushed way of going about your day.

I, however, was not raised on island time.  I have and still am an uber-punctual person,  often being earlier than most.  A teacher once described me as the girl who walked really fast and had her own agenda.  I’m still that way, but I’ve recently learned to appreciate island time.  I just had to be thousands of miles away to learn.

While in NYC, I was thrown straight into the rush of the crowd.  At times, I would walk my usual pace and keep up with the flow.  Other times, I was the slow one. What remained the same was that no one really looked at each other or fully absorbed the world around them.  I guess that’s what made me slower sometimes.  I wanted to see as much as I could; I was visiting after all.  There were pictures I wanted to take, smells to remember (well, not all smells), and faces I wanted to look at.

Here, though there aren’t any skyscrapers or monoliths, I try to take a deep breath and enjoy whatever was around me.  Sure, the faces aren’t as anonymous as those in NYC, but that doesn’t mean they’re still not worth remembering or getting to know.

Running on island time isn’t all that bad.  No matter how slow things moved along, things still got done.  On island time, people are still in their own world, but they still had time to say hello and smile at you, stranger or not.

So, if there’s a chance that we meet, I may seem rushed, but know that though I’m in my own world, I’m going to try to say hello to you and smile.


Of Hunger and Memories

Shrimp scampi from Giovanni’s Shrimp Truck. North Shore, Hawaii.

Sometimes its not so much the sights a place has, but the scents and tastes as well. Most of my best memories involved food– birthday parties, fiestas, dinners with friends.  Other memories included making a  friend over Thai food, having a serious fight with a friend over a baked potato, and having an awkward conversation about vegetarianism.

My trip to Hawaii was inundated with loads of food: Filipino, Japanese, Italian, and Hawaiian.  (My stomach does not discriminate against national origin.  If its good, it doesn’t matter what country it came from.) The picture of shrimp scampi above involves the creation of another great memory.  Namely, reconnecting with family members I haven’t seen for over 18 years.  (Gasp, 18 years!)

Suffice to say, no matter kind of food is on my plate, I know that one way or another, I’m sure to make some sort of memory out of it.

There is no love sincerer than the love of food.
~George Bernard Shaw, “The Revolutionist’s Handbook,” Man and Superman

Trading islands for a little while



Blue skies from the other side of the International Date Line

When you’ve been residing on a tropical island for a while, sometimes an otherwise great picture of blue skies may come to be a dime a dozen. (Correction: its been raining here as if it was running out of style.) And though I don’t want the picture above to be one of those dime a dozen shots, I’ll toss it in anyway.

Now, let’s add some irony. I started this blog to talk about my writing, but I’ve ended up using this blog for photography. And you know, that’s not a bad thing. And depending on how you may feel about it, I’m on Instagram (I’m 144east). And that’s helped me too with my photography bit.

Anyway, its great to be on this side of the International Date Line again.