An Asian Pacific Heritage Story
Hapa Mag - MAY 13, 2020
By Tori Eldridge
HAPA THRILLER AUTHOR OF THE NINJA DAUGHTER
I am a mixed-race woman of Chinese, Hawaiian, Norwegian descent. I was born in Honolulu before the Hawaiian Sovereignty Movement gained traction, before Waikiki burst at its seams, and before many of the main freeways had been constructed. It was a time when kids walked to malls alone, fished off bridges with their friends, and played football barefoot in the street. We body surfed at Sandy’s and Makapuu (no boogie boards back then) and hiked on lava in bare feet or slippers (never flip flops) to the treacherous Hanauma Bay Toilet Bowl that filled and flushed with the surf. I imagine that some of this remains the same, although I’m fairly certain the state has cordoned off the toilet bowl because of the numerous drowning incidents.
Then, as now, the Kanaka Maoli (native Hawaiians) took pride in our heritage and kept our culture alive through song, dance, legends, language, and beliefs. This culture was also shared with and celebrated by people of other cultures who came to live in our islands. Long before my time, this amalgamation of customs, language, and heritage formed a new local culture, unique to the world with special words, foods, and a colorful Hawaiian Pidgin English language. We even had a special name for those of us with native Hawaiian ancestry mixed with non-Polynesian blood—Hapa.
In the Hawaiian language, Hapa means half but implies mixed or part. When I was a kid, Hapa referred to mixed-race people with Hawaiian blood. Now, the term is frequently used for people of mixed Asian heritage. Back then, friends called me Hapa-haole (part white) or Hapa-pake (part Chinese) depending on the circumstance. Both combinations—as well as all three—were common as two-day-old poi.
My mother, Bertha Bow Kam Ching, was born and raised in Wailuku, Maui. Her mother, Louisa Ah Fung Kong, was half Chinese and half Hawaiian, the lineage of which can be traced back to our ancestors Waiu and Hape in 1783. Tutu—what I would have called my grandmother had she lived long enough for me to meet—picked opihi off the rocks in high surf. She was a daring woman who loved her food, cooked and raw. She raised pigs down by the river, where my mother loved to play, grew banana trees in the yard, and distilled wickedly strong okolehao, made from the root of a ti plant. She died before I was born, but Ma told me of her big laugh and euphoric love of food.
My maternal grandfather, Hing Ching, immigrated from Guangdong Province (Canton), at a time when China was experiencing major political upheaval and social unrest. Back then, it was not uncommon for married men to leave their families in search of work. It was also not uncommon for married men to marry Hawaiian women and start a new family in the new land— which is what my grandfather did. And when he married my grandfather, they gave away their first born child— just like characters from James Michener’s novel Hawaii.
Gung-Gung— as I probably would have called him had he lived long enough for me to meet— was a scholar who read and wrote letters and documents for the Chinese community in Wailuku, Maui. He was also a remarkable cook and prepared meals in the restaurant portion of Tutu’s bakery and general store. Ma didn’t speak of her childhood until her twilight years, so my knowledge of Gung-Gung, Tutu, and even Ma’s early years are a bit sketchy. But from what I understand, Gung-Gung and his two brothers were well respected in the Maui Chinese community. I learned this not from my mother, but from, of all people, a fellow author.
In March 2016, I learned about a book called The Three-Year Swim Club: The Untold Story of Maui's Sugar Ditch Kids and Their Quest for Olympic Glory. Author, Julie Checkoway, had mentioned Ma in one of her chapters and put a group photo with Ma, scowling beside her friends, on the cover. Apparently, my mother had played a part in the legendary story of Maui’s famous swim team. Who knew?
Ma was a keeper of secrets and woefully stingy with stories about her past. She’d drop comments like crumbs, but never enough to lead us to the proper destination. Even my father only knew a fraction of her history. As for swimming, all any of us knew was that she had swum on a team and hated it. No wonder she cautioned me against it. “Swimming is cold and tedious,” she’d say. “Stick to dance.”
I still remember the look of astonishment on her face when I placed the book in her hands. By this time, Alzheimer’s had stolen much of her attention and short-term memory, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why anyone would care to read about a bunch of Maui kids like her. I, of course, cared a great deal.
I contacted the author and learned quite a bit about Ma, her cousin and swim buddy, Blossom, and— surprisingly— my grandfather, Hing Ching. As part of her research, Julie Checkoway had read a collection of oral histories compiled by Ken Yee and Nancy Wong Yee entitled Chinese Pioneer Families of Maui, Molokai, and Lanai. It included an oral history about Hing Ching and his brothers. The book is long since out of print, but I tracked down a copy and gladly paid the exorbitant price.
Japanese culture has also contributed to my identity.
Not only did my parents meet and marry in Japan at the end of World War II, both of my sisters were born and spent their formative years in Tokyo. My father served as a U.S. army lieutenant during the occupation, and my mother had followed job opportunities after working for the U.S. Navy on Maui. As they fell in love with each other, my father— in particular— fell in love with the Japanese art, food, architecture, people, and language, which he learned to speak fluently. When I was growing up in Honolulu, the Japanese tourist ladies would twitter with delight to hear my blond, blue-eyed father speak such polite Japanese.
Between my family’s early history in Tokyo, my father’s love of the culture, the influence of my Hawaii Japanese friends, and the integration of Japanese culture into Hawaiian society, it’s no wonder why I gravitated to the Japanese martial art of the ninja.
During the month of May, designated as Asian Pacific Heritage Month, I celebrate my Hawaiian-Chinese heritage. I am Hapa in the truest sense of the word. My mixed-race heritage defines my nature, personality, and perception of the world. I’m deeply proud of my heritage and profoundly grateful to have grown up in a place where Asian and Pacific people are accepted and celebrated.