That's the million dollar question. All I hear from Samoa these days is how expensive the cost of living is. Yet on Facebook I see my more affluent friends travelling the world at will. I wonder how Keli is doing. I wonder how Ofo is doing. I wonder how Thomas is doing. I wonder how Kid is doing. I wonder how Ioapo is doing. I wonder how Taualagi is doing. And countless others who occupy Samoa's unskilled labor force. I am appalled by the cost of simple basic food items as I speak to my mother on the phone. I try to imagine life without electricity and milk and butter in a cold fridge. I cringe but that is a reality for many of my childhood friends. Friends whom I think of often and friends who have in some way shaped the person I am today.
I hate politics. I hate religion. I hate poverty. All of these have a hand in the harsh daily lives that consume my people. But the biggest hate of all for me is the realization that I can do nothing about it. I realize that the task of saving the world is too big. I am not Atlas and I can not shoulder the weight of the world and for some reason I am disappointed in myself for not at least trying. I have my own selfish existence to sustain and at times I consider myself pathetic for my selfish pursuits.
How is the human spirit supposed to flourish with creativity and happiness when everything around you is out of reach? At least that's the muse of this blogger.
Keli is an old village boy who now works for my parents as our gardener. He makes sure our quarter of an acre in our little corner of the world is landscaped to my father's expectations. Being in those shoes before I reckon my old man will get every red cent worth out of Keli. And then some. Keli got absorbed into our family over the years. He lived in my former village and as a child used to come around and linger on the fringes of our house. Eventually I let him through the door. One of my nephews befriended him and he's been in the household ever since. Its been 17 years now. Keli is the only thing left we have from our old house. Well except for my memories.
Over the years we had an on again off again relationship with Keli. He would work for us then not show up. Find out he's working somewhere else. We never denied him the opportunity to work elsewhere though. Wherever he felt was best for him we let him be. When my nephew went off to University and I moved to the US he disappeared. But funny enough if either of us return to Samoa for a visit Keli would find out and quit whatever job he had going and come and stay with us for the duration of our visit. Not quite sure what he did after we left.
I wish I could do more for him. Keli is now a man. He has a wife and two kids and they live within very minimal means. One night I went to drop him off at his wife's family where he lives. It was a simple fale overcrowded with bodies. I said, "Jesus Keli couldn't you have married into some money". We both chuckled then we were greeted by his naked children. Both of whom are spitting images of him when he first started coming over to house as a young twelve year old.
As I fumble through my photos over the years and see him at different stages I start to worry about him. What the future holds for him and what the future holds for his children. His father passed away when he was barely a teenager. His mother then migrated to NZ to live with his older siblings. At times we were the only source of guidance he had and at times I felt like I have failed him.
I hope Samoa does not push their poor deeper into the shadows. I hope the Fa'a Samoa will leave no one behind. In fact I don't hope it, I wish it.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Futile in hindsight
As an adult I can now look back and appreciate the scope of life's challenges my parents and other working class citizens in Samoa faced. When I graduated from University and realized the type of money my parents earned during their working years I was horrified. I understand now why my father was so tight with money. But ironically, ours is a story of creditable adequacy. There were many others who were worse off than us. My dad ran a tight ship but we were never at any point without anything we needed.
My own family life is vastly different to that of my childhood. Currently in my parent's house we have the same living room furniture, dining room table, beds and linen, pots and pans from my childhood. My father would fall off his chair if he realized that in 8 short years in my house we have changed our living room and dining furniture three times, we have three TV's (not counting the one I gave away because it was crowding the house), three cars, my children change clothes almost every year, four computers, five iPods, Nintendo Wii, XBox 360, and the dagger in his heart would be that we eat out two-three times a week. I never recalled as a child my family going out for meal. That would be just too much for my dad to stomach. Conversely, my own family's consumerism is through the roof and I am guilty as hell. Yet my children think we never buy anything!
There's something to be admired about my parent's generation. They were frugal and knew how to save for rainy days. They knew hard times. They grew up in modest households, lived through the war in the Pacific, and top of it all raised their families. There were many like them and they were all admirable. A quality lost in today's "instant gratification" Generation X.
In my short stint as a Public Servant in Samoa I realized how grossly underpaid most admirable professions were. I thought back to my former teachers and realized why none of them had fancy cars, or why they took the bus to and from school. I learned a lot from school. I've had some great, and not so great, teachers. But for the most part I had a good run.
Sometimes I've wondered what has happened to some of them. Some I know are right where we left them twenty or so years ago. Then there's somewhat of a haunting memory I have of an experience I had involving an elderly teacher. Once I was standing in line in a popular supermarket, I recognized a teacher who taught in my primary school getting ready to pay for her items. She was not my teacher but I recognized her from my old school. She was two places in front of me. The cashier tallied up her items and told her a total not within her expectations. She stood quietly for a minute in the midst of the shopping chaos and then politely asked if she could return some of the items. The cashier obliged, she paid for what she could then walked out the door. The whole time I stood there like the gutless fool that I am and did nothing. I could have easily stepped in and paid for it. Its the least I could do. I was a young professional, unmarried, and well paid by Samoan standards. Maybe it was because I didn't want to draw attention to myself or maybe I didn't want to offend anybody, or maybe it was because I was a fucking idiot. Sometimes its the small things in life you want to take back. Hindsight is a mixed bag. Sometimes you look at it and laugh. Sometimes you look at it and cry.
My own family life is vastly different to that of my childhood. Currently in my parent's house we have the same living room furniture, dining room table, beds and linen, pots and pans from my childhood. My father would fall off his chair if he realized that in 8 short years in my house we have changed our living room and dining furniture three times, we have three TV's (not counting the one I gave away because it was crowding the house), three cars, my children change clothes almost every year, four computers, five iPods, Nintendo Wii, XBox 360, and the dagger in his heart would be that we eat out two-three times a week. I never recalled as a child my family going out for meal. That would be just too much for my dad to stomach. Conversely, my own family's consumerism is through the roof and I am guilty as hell. Yet my children think we never buy anything!
There's something to be admired about my parent's generation. They were frugal and knew how to save for rainy days. They knew hard times. They grew up in modest households, lived through the war in the Pacific, and top of it all raised their families. There were many like them and they were all admirable. A quality lost in today's "instant gratification" Generation X.
In my short stint as a Public Servant in Samoa I realized how grossly underpaid most admirable professions were. I thought back to my former teachers and realized why none of them had fancy cars, or why they took the bus to and from school. I learned a lot from school. I've had some great, and not so great, teachers. But for the most part I had a good run.
Sometimes I've wondered what has happened to some of them. Some I know are right where we left them twenty or so years ago. Then there's somewhat of a haunting memory I have of an experience I had involving an elderly teacher. Once I was standing in line in a popular supermarket, I recognized a teacher who taught in my primary school getting ready to pay for her items. She was not my teacher but I recognized her from my old school. She was two places in front of me. The cashier tallied up her items and told her a total not within her expectations. She stood quietly for a minute in the midst of the shopping chaos and then politely asked if she could return some of the items. The cashier obliged, she paid for what she could then walked out the door. The whole time I stood there like the gutless fool that I am and did nothing. I could have easily stepped in and paid for it. Its the least I could do. I was a young professional, unmarried, and well paid by Samoan standards. Maybe it was because I didn't want to draw attention to myself or maybe I didn't want to offend anybody, or maybe it was because I was a fucking idiot. Sometimes its the small things in life you want to take back. Hindsight is a mixed bag. Sometimes you look at it and laugh. Sometimes you look at it and cry.
The Red Radio
The luxury of owning a television in Samoa in the early 80's was only reserved for those families with money. Not particularly wealthy families but those who could muster up a few luxuries in life. We had a TV but both my parents were public servants so our family was never at any point characterized by wealth.
Radio was a big part of Samoan life. Our only radio station 2AP, served the entertainment needs of much of the country. There was a wide variety of programming from children's classroom lessons, stories, music dedications (a favorite of the teenage youth), weather, funeral announcements and government notices. Everything a public radio should be. I always remembered during cyclones how everyone would cling to the radio hoping for good news while the incessant winds tore up our surroundings. Also thinking back, and I was too young to realize it, whether there was any government propaganda? Not sure if Samoan politics then was as insidious as it is today.
Ofo's family owned a radio. It was a red box-shaped radio with one round speaker on the right, tuner and volume dials on the left, analog frequency display on the top-front, and a red handle. It was about the size of a child's shoe box. The red radio was the only item of luxury in the entire fale. It constituted a major purchase in their family's economic situation. Often Ofo's mother and younger siblings would huddle around the radio and take in the moment's programming and chuckle at the antics of Samoa's most prominent radio personality, Pat Mamaia.
Strangely the state of the red radio often revealed the state of Ofo's family dynamics. There were days when it was loud and proud and the mood was jubilant. There were days when it was turned off completely because batteries could not be afforded. Then as time wore on the red radio was partly decimated and pieced together in a sloppy manner with pieces of string and rubberbands. Those were the bad times. Ofo's father had a proneness to throwing the radio out in front of the fale onto the stoned yard during his fits of anger. It was almost as if it was a lesson in humanity. In stressful times, the father who is the head of the family, will take away or deny the family of a certain thing, and the mother will quietly and methodically patch it up and add reassurance that everything will be okay.
However, after a few trips to the front yard of the fale the red radio ended up burning with all of the other insignificant rubbish one evening. Nothing replaced the red radio. Ofo's family had no electricity so I often wondered what they did in the evenings. He showed up every Tuesday night at my house to watch the A-Team. Not long after the red radio disappeared Ofo's family were evicted and disappeared to.
Radio was a big part of Samoan life. Our only radio station 2AP, served the entertainment needs of much of the country. There was a wide variety of programming from children's classroom lessons, stories, music dedications (a favorite of the teenage youth), weather, funeral announcements and government notices. Everything a public radio should be. I always remembered during cyclones how everyone would cling to the radio hoping for good news while the incessant winds tore up our surroundings. Also thinking back, and I was too young to realize it, whether there was any government propaganda? Not sure if Samoan politics then was as insidious as it is today.
Ofo's family owned a radio. It was a red box-shaped radio with one round speaker on the right, tuner and volume dials on the left, analog frequency display on the top-front, and a red handle. It was about the size of a child's shoe box. The red radio was the only item of luxury in the entire fale. It constituted a major purchase in their family's economic situation. Often Ofo's mother and younger siblings would huddle around the radio and take in the moment's programming and chuckle at the antics of Samoa's most prominent radio personality, Pat Mamaia.
Strangely the state of the red radio often revealed the state of Ofo's family dynamics. There were days when it was loud and proud and the mood was jubilant. There were days when it was turned off completely because batteries could not be afforded. Then as time wore on the red radio was partly decimated and pieced together in a sloppy manner with pieces of string and rubberbands. Those were the bad times. Ofo's father had a proneness to throwing the radio out in front of the fale onto the stoned yard during his fits of anger. It was almost as if it was a lesson in humanity. In stressful times, the father who is the head of the family, will take away or deny the family of a certain thing, and the mother will quietly and methodically patch it up and add reassurance that everything will be okay.
However, after a few trips to the front yard of the fale the red radio ended up burning with all of the other insignificant rubbish one evening. Nothing replaced the red radio. Ofo's family had no electricity so I often wondered what they did in the evenings. He showed up every Tuesday night at my house to watch the A-Team. Not long after the red radio disappeared Ofo's family were evicted and disappeared to.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Twilight in the desert
I am sitting by the window. My head is leaning on the glass. Every now and then my view is clouded when I exhale. I am tired, I can not sit up straight and I am apathetic about my posture. The train is nearing my stop. I have a few minutes to collect my thoughts. The sun is setting behind us and a golden color is coated on all objects in my view. I see wide open landscape dotted with fenced industrial lots. A line of trees momentarily blurs the outside world and then we emerge to more wasteland. This is the unsightly portion of the trip. I start wondering back to evenings in Samoa as a youth. Ofo and I would always be up to something. We would either be sitting at the top of a high tree pretending we were Tarzan, swimming in the nearby river, shadowing birds with our slingshots or picking fruit from trees. Whatever it was we were doing that evening, it usually involved fun! Evening was playtime in Samoa. All the villages were buzzing with the vigor of their restless youth. Me and Ofo were no exception. I never really knew how to define happiness until I think back.
Evenings today are uneventful and most of all forgetful. I am either sitting in traffic or gazing emptily out into passing objects from the seat of a train. Days begin and end with no fanfare. The reflection I see on the window is that of an increasingly passive man. Not the once adventurous boy. Sometimes I over-wear my emotions on my sleeves. An announcement blares out about our next stop. My stop. I look outside and see a magnificent pine tree and smiled to myself. If that tree had been anywhere near me and Ofo in our prime, we would be sitting on the top branches singing our lungs out.
Evenings today are uneventful and most of all forgetful. I am either sitting in traffic or gazing emptily out into passing objects from the seat of a train. Days begin and end with no fanfare. The reflection I see on the window is that of an increasingly passive man. Not the once adventurous boy. Sometimes I over-wear my emotions on my sleeves. An announcement blares out about our next stop. My stop. I look outside and see a magnificent pine tree and smiled to myself. If that tree had been anywhere near me and Ofo in our prime, we would be sitting on the top branches singing our lungs out.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Good and Bad days
Sometimes I think life is beautiful. Sometimes I think life is harsh. I envy those who have a constant positive outlook on life. I envy them because I know how hard it is to sustain. There is a notion you often hear about one making it. I have often thought about my personal situation and wondered whether I've "made it". I've finished my schooling, got a University education, have a fairly decent career, family, etc ... In the spectrum of life accumulations those would probably have to be pretty high up there. I have not really explored the space of business though. I never really considered myself a businessman because I don't really have the demeanor and secondly I am not very good at soliciting people's money! I think I'm a little bit too honest. Most of all I think I am a little bit too conservative.
If I had to define myself I would say I am a simple guy who contradicted his fate by choosing the complexity route. Sometimes I do wish I had taken the simple route. Stay home on the islands, maybe engage in a little subsistence agriculture and do the things I love most which is being close to nature. After all I am an island boy at heart. I can't help but wonder sometimes if I am a disappointment to my father. I think maybe because he saw something in me that I never did. Sometimes I do regret my prevalent mentality of doing "just enough". I think father's want to see their sons excel. I know I do of my son but is it fair when I myself am guilty of the very thing that all derelicts with great potential succumb to? My pile of ponder gets the best of me sometimes.
Some days I am confident. I can grab life by the horns and control my own destiny. Some days not so much. I am afraid of tomorrow and whether I would be up to face the challenges a new day brings. There are other people that depend on me being able to fight the daily battles. I am here because of them and they are here because of me. My job is to maintain that balance.
Have I made it? The answer is I don't know. But what I do know is that there is no proverbial "made it" point. Its about transitioning and adapting to the different circumstances in your life and then deciding whether you want to move up, down or stay the same.Which way is really up to you.
If I had to define myself I would say I am a simple guy who contradicted his fate by choosing the complexity route. Sometimes I do wish I had taken the simple route. Stay home on the islands, maybe engage in a little subsistence agriculture and do the things I love most which is being close to nature. After all I am an island boy at heart. I can't help but wonder sometimes if I am a disappointment to my father. I think maybe because he saw something in me that I never did. Sometimes I do regret my prevalent mentality of doing "just enough". I think father's want to see their sons excel. I know I do of my son but is it fair when I myself am guilty of the very thing that all derelicts with great potential succumb to? My pile of ponder gets the best of me sometimes.
Some days I am confident. I can grab life by the horns and control my own destiny. Some days not so much. I am afraid of tomorrow and whether I would be up to face the challenges a new day brings. There are other people that depend on me being able to fight the daily battles. I am here because of them and they are here because of me. My job is to maintain that balance.
Have I made it? The answer is I don't know. But what I do know is that there is no proverbial "made it" point. Its about transitioning and adapting to the different circumstances in your life and then deciding whether you want to move up, down or stay the same.Which way is really up to you.
American Dream not so sweet anymore
The current recession we are trying to dig ourselves out of was a result of the housing crisis. During the early to the middle part of the 2000's the housing market experienced a bubble. Loosely defined, a bubble is a situation where prices of a commodity experience growth levels that are not sustainable. So what that means in the real world if you buy something on a bubble you are probably over paying for it. As it turns out when it was time for my generation to transition into home ownership and raising our families, this was the market we inherited.
Purchasing your first home is supposed to be the most exciting time of your adult life. In our case it certainly was. But ironically it turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life. I kick myself every damn day thinking I should have known better. I was wrong and I have to live with it. There was so many so called expert opinions on housing at the time it made everyone feel like, "you must buy now or risk being left out". I wont rant on the shortfalls of Wall Street as it is outside the scope of this blog, but I will say the whole thing was a fucking mess and as usual the victims are those of us that comprise the middle class of America.
I lost 55% of the value of my house. I held on for almost three years thinking that there has to be something in the pipeline for people like me i.e. not in "real" financial trouble but have suffered a severe loss in home equity. I tried to get a loan modification but kept getting denied. So much for the federal stimulus package. Bail out the bitches who caused the mess in the first place. The issue was I never was able to satisfy the first criteria in that I had to have some sort of financial problems. Basically, paying out more that I bring in on a monthly basis. I didn't lose my job, I don't have mounting medical bills, outstanding credit card debt, etc... I was guilty and being punished for being a model citizen. Seems like all the help out there was for people who got themselves in shit. Those of us that tried our darned hardest to stay out of it were left to rot in the consequences.
I decided to foreclose on our mortgage. And just as predatory as the lenders there's an equally predatory market of agents that claim they can help! Go figure. Everywhere you turn there's always some asshole who tries to make a sucker out of you. I have had enough. I had to lick my wounds, take my losses and restart the machine. Foreclosure was the best option for me. I am wounded by the amount of money I sunk into this place. It also means that I can not buy a house for at least seven years but in seven years I would have saved $100k just by renting a house bigger than my current house. The irony is so palpable its ridiculous.
I am ambivalent about the whole situation. A part of me is sad to see my first ever home being lost and the other part of me is relishing in the money I will be saving by not overpaying for a house. I should have followed the first wave and bailed two years ago. I have learned a very important lesson by observing my American counterparts. In this country decisions you make should be based on financial consequences. Everything else is being naively hopeful. After all America is a "Capitalist" country.
American Dream temporarily on hold ...
Purchasing your first home is supposed to be the most exciting time of your adult life. In our case it certainly was. But ironically it turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life. I kick myself every damn day thinking I should have known better. I was wrong and I have to live with it. There was so many so called expert opinions on housing at the time it made everyone feel like, "you must buy now or risk being left out". I wont rant on the shortfalls of Wall Street as it is outside the scope of this blog, but I will say the whole thing was a fucking mess and as usual the victims are those of us that comprise the middle class of America.
I lost 55% of the value of my house. I held on for almost three years thinking that there has to be something in the pipeline for people like me i.e. not in "real" financial trouble but have suffered a severe loss in home equity. I tried to get a loan modification but kept getting denied. So much for the federal stimulus package. Bail out the bitches who caused the mess in the first place. The issue was I never was able to satisfy the first criteria in that I had to have some sort of financial problems. Basically, paying out more that I bring in on a monthly basis. I didn't lose my job, I don't have mounting medical bills, outstanding credit card debt, etc... I was guilty and being punished for being a model citizen. Seems like all the help out there was for people who got themselves in shit. Those of us that tried our darned hardest to stay out of it were left to rot in the consequences.
I decided to foreclose on our mortgage. And just as predatory as the lenders there's an equally predatory market of agents that claim they can help! Go figure. Everywhere you turn there's always some asshole who tries to make a sucker out of you. I have had enough. I had to lick my wounds, take my losses and restart the machine. Foreclosure was the best option for me. I am wounded by the amount of money I sunk into this place. It also means that I can not buy a house for at least seven years but in seven years I would have saved $100k just by renting a house bigger than my current house. The irony is so palpable its ridiculous.
I am ambivalent about the whole situation. A part of me is sad to see my first ever home being lost and the other part of me is relishing in the money I will be saving by not overpaying for a house. I should have followed the first wave and bailed two years ago. I have learned a very important lesson by observing my American counterparts. In this country decisions you make should be based on financial consequences. Everything else is being naively hopeful. After all America is a "Capitalist" country.
American Dream temporarily on hold ...
Saturday, August 21, 2010
The Talented Mr Thomas
I am not exactly sure why I am reminiscing about so many childhood friends. Maybe because I am all alone out here in the deserts of the Inland Empire. Or maybe because I never made any other friends since I grew up. Or maybe because I was a lot happier in my younger days. Maybe its all of the above. I hesitate to search for the answer in case I do not like what I find.
Thomas' story is a tragedy. A tragedy as defined by the perception of a society shaped by conformity and material success. To trivialize Thomas' existence would be to label him as a "god damned good for nothing bi-sexual alcoholic". I didn't see Thomas under that light. It annoyed me at times when my peers often judged him that way. There are human beings that come into this world well equipped for life. Some are inadequate from the start. Thomas was the former.
As young boys in our early to late teens Thomas stood out. Most of us were of average ability. He was always a little better than everyone else in whatever we did. Thomas was also a creative being I now realize, but nobody really thought much of it. He was always making little trinkets. Arts and crafts was in his blood. He was a handsome Samoan boy blessed with a mythological polynesian physique. Very talented in physical activity and very talented in creative activity. Thomas also had effeminate qualities. A quality which in some weird way was present in a lot of boys from his family.
Thomas' father was an alcoholic. An artistic man who had a business selling clothing with island prints. He was an imposing figure and a strict disciplinarian. But he had a weakness and it was the drink. He was a tall slim man with a protruding stomach from years of alcohol consumption. It finally led to his death after being diagnosed with diabetes.
Thomas was equally artistic. If not more. Whatever it is that required skill and attention to detail, Thomas would excel at it. He made beautiful jewelry, sculptures, clothing, etc. He was also an excellent dancer and entertainer. He can basically take anything, fool around with it and made it better. We would be sitting under a tree and he would be looking around then suddenly furnish a necklace from shit lying around. Or pick up a piece of driftwood on the beach and make something nice out of it. One day I needed a haircut and he just took a comb and a pair of scissors and did it. He was my hairdresser from that day on.
Years had passed and adulthood started to set in. I realized he stopped going to school and he never really held down a consistent paying job. He just did not fit that mold. He was not one of those people that got up in the morning, went to work, and at the end of the day came home. Its like he started to spend his life wandering around. Then came the alcohol addiction. Everything started to spiral out of control from there.
Thomas got involved in the party scene. He would congregate with all the other wanderers and drink beer or home brew. He socialized with whores, prostitutes and fafafine. Basically anywhere he could find the next drink. He started to display addict tendencies. He didn't mind being the whipping boy of any party as long as he got to drink. There was also something different about Thomas. It was rumored that he dabbled in homosexual acts.
One day out of the blue I heard Thomas was moving to Australia. He met some guy whom I assume was gay, and decided to take Thomas back with him. I am not sure what the nature of the relationship was but it was enough for Thomas to pack up and leave. He was gone for the most part of two years until he returned. I never really asked him what he did in Australia. He mentioned it one day while were sitting under a big tree infront of my house shooting the breeze. He was telling me how he was sent back to Samoa by this man that took him because he found out about him and a girl. I wondered if maybe he had found love. He told of a few other indiscretions as he sipped his beer and gazing into the distance. I didn't want to hear it.
I had been gone from home for over six years. On my visit back I went to look for him. I knocked at his door and a little kid said he was at the house next door. I walked over and called out his name. He turned around and when he saw me he smiled. He was drunk. It was only the middle of the day. He was very frail and had some facial scarring. I am not very sure he fully comprehended the situation. Either he was too inebriated or a recent beating he got while on one of his binges was starting to affect his sanity. I was deeply saddened by his appearance. He had well and truly assumed the reputation of the village drunk. And in true addict sense he was more interested in whether I had any cash. I had bought him some nice American cargo pants and t-shirts. Somehow I feel he may have bartered them off.
Thomas can not be saved. He is now a full fledged alcoholic and addict. Has been for many years. Its his escape. When you find that place of comfort in your head you're not so inclined to easily give it up. In some ways he is a big disappointment to me. My father once told me that talent and clever alone is not a guarantee to success. Its also putting in the work. I would also like to add "choices" to that mix. Thomas made all the wrong choices a man could make. But given his surroundings I am not sure he had any other than to succumb to the inevitable. Regardless of how the world sees him now, to me he will always be the Talented Mr Thomas.
Thomas' story is a tragedy. A tragedy as defined by the perception of a society shaped by conformity and material success. To trivialize Thomas' existence would be to label him as a "god damned good for nothing bi-sexual alcoholic". I didn't see Thomas under that light. It annoyed me at times when my peers often judged him that way. There are human beings that come into this world well equipped for life. Some are inadequate from the start. Thomas was the former.
As young boys in our early to late teens Thomas stood out. Most of us were of average ability. He was always a little better than everyone else in whatever we did. Thomas was also a creative being I now realize, but nobody really thought much of it. He was always making little trinkets. Arts and crafts was in his blood. He was a handsome Samoan boy blessed with a mythological polynesian physique. Very talented in physical activity and very talented in creative activity. Thomas also had effeminate qualities. A quality which in some weird way was present in a lot of boys from his family.
Thomas' father was an alcoholic. An artistic man who had a business selling clothing with island prints. He was an imposing figure and a strict disciplinarian. But he had a weakness and it was the drink. He was a tall slim man with a protruding stomach from years of alcohol consumption. It finally led to his death after being diagnosed with diabetes.
Thomas was equally artistic. If not more. Whatever it is that required skill and attention to detail, Thomas would excel at it. He made beautiful jewelry, sculptures, clothing, etc. He was also an excellent dancer and entertainer. He can basically take anything, fool around with it and made it better. We would be sitting under a tree and he would be looking around then suddenly furnish a necklace from shit lying around. Or pick up a piece of driftwood on the beach and make something nice out of it. One day I needed a haircut and he just took a comb and a pair of scissors and did it. He was my hairdresser from that day on.
Years had passed and adulthood started to set in. I realized he stopped going to school and he never really held down a consistent paying job. He just did not fit that mold. He was not one of those people that got up in the morning, went to work, and at the end of the day came home. Its like he started to spend his life wandering around. Then came the alcohol addiction. Everything started to spiral out of control from there.
Thomas got involved in the party scene. He would congregate with all the other wanderers and drink beer or home brew. He socialized with whores, prostitutes and fafafine. Basically anywhere he could find the next drink. He started to display addict tendencies. He didn't mind being the whipping boy of any party as long as he got to drink. There was also something different about Thomas. It was rumored that he dabbled in homosexual acts.
One day out of the blue I heard Thomas was moving to Australia. He met some guy whom I assume was gay, and decided to take Thomas back with him. I am not sure what the nature of the relationship was but it was enough for Thomas to pack up and leave. He was gone for the most part of two years until he returned. I never really asked him what he did in Australia. He mentioned it one day while were sitting under a big tree infront of my house shooting the breeze. He was telling me how he was sent back to Samoa by this man that took him because he found out about him and a girl. I wondered if maybe he had found love. He told of a few other indiscretions as he sipped his beer and gazing into the distance. I didn't want to hear it.
I had been gone from home for over six years. On my visit back I went to look for him. I knocked at his door and a little kid said he was at the house next door. I walked over and called out his name. He turned around and when he saw me he smiled. He was drunk. It was only the middle of the day. He was very frail and had some facial scarring. I am not very sure he fully comprehended the situation. Either he was too inebriated or a recent beating he got while on one of his binges was starting to affect his sanity. I was deeply saddened by his appearance. He had well and truly assumed the reputation of the village drunk. And in true addict sense he was more interested in whether I had any cash. I had bought him some nice American cargo pants and t-shirts. Somehow I feel he may have bartered them off.
Thomas can not be saved. He is now a full fledged alcoholic and addict. Has been for many years. Its his escape. When you find that place of comfort in your head you're not so inclined to easily give it up. In some ways he is a big disappointment to me. My father once told me that talent and clever alone is not a guarantee to success. Its also putting in the work. I would also like to add "choices" to that mix. Thomas made all the wrong choices a man could make. But given his surroundings I am not sure he had any other than to succumb to the inevitable. Regardless of how the world sees him now, to me he will always be the Talented Mr Thomas.
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