A Walk On The Tears (of Mother Earth)

1985 

Dawn Akiona knew she’d perish from suicide. The prophecy had been written for her, initiated by a brutal Entity that has haunted her bloodline for generations. 

Historians say the Entity took its first soul in 1898, but elders claim it happened long before that—and you always listen to elders. 

***

She remembers what Mama always said. “They banned our language, stole our lands, took our queen, slaughtered our people, assimilated our babies, and imprisoned our Papahānaumoku.” Of course her vulnerable mind couldn’t understand the depth of those words or how it was an introduction to the Entity, but she held onto them nonetheless. They were leeches in her memory. “My girl, you can’t ever forget the truth, because you will not learn it in school.” 

The truth. 

      Mama was right, too. They didn’t teach you the truth in school. Hawai’i wasn’t home, it was paradise—a destination for rich, milk-skinned people, descendants of the Entity who get to relish the delicacies that were stolen and are still deprived from the Survivors. 

Dawn wished that she listened to Mama more. 

Mama perished a long time ago, but she didn’t remember the loss vividly. She was still a child when Anuhea Akiona ran into the ocean and never came out. Therefore, she didn’t consider the loss as profound as she’d like to. How can you grieve someone you barely knew? 

She asked the question in therapy often, in different ways so Miss Crockett didn’t get suspicious. She was a smart woman, but Dawn was an overthinker, and overthinkers possess a gift that the average person doesn’t. The gift of anticipation. I can anticipate one’s every move, every word, and every thought before it’s executed. 

“All of us express grief in different ways, Dawn,” she’d say every time, her gentle voice echoing in her small office. “It’s okay if you haven’t recognized how you express yours.” 

Oh, I have. You just don’t know. 

Dawn’s facade was stellar until the final session. “Thank you for everything, Miss Crockett,” she had whispered behind trembling lips and stoic eyes—two features that illustrate a complex visage even therapists can’t understand. “I’m so grateful for everything you have done for me.” 

“You’re scheduled for an appointment next week, Dawn. I don’t think the sentiments-” 

“I know I have an appointment, but still. Is it criminal to say thank you?” 

Miss Crockett conceded, “No, it isn’t. Thank you.”

Dawn nodded and walked out of the office, navigating through the dim hallways. Life appeared jaundiced in view, since the lightbulb produced a more yellow-colored light rather than a pellucid one. That made her temples throb. She sighed, following the circular patterns on the rug. One step, one step closer to liberation. No more suffering, no more thoughts—just freedom. As she exited the building, her relief was palpable.

To hell with that place. 

She removed the worn-out black sandals from her feet, embracing the warm grounds on the sidewalk. The sun was happy to absorb more of this girl’s brown skin. It only meant that destiny was closer and refuge from the Entity would be claimed, as it was every generation. 

The streets, thankfully, were not too brutal with traffic. It was past five o’clock and it was a Monday. Tourists were already gone or preparing to depart from their Grand Paradise. Life would be normal for a few days. What a shame that I’m leaving now. 

Dawn considered the brief prospect of not leaving. What if, just what if, I overcome this Entity that has wiped out my people? How do I even know if my strength is inferior to the Entity? What if it is superior? Resistance felt necessary.

They say the Oppressed is crazy. “Bonkers”, I recall an English tourist replying to me when I asked a question of similar regard. They say the Oppressed is sensitive. Because why don’t we just forget about the genocide and look at it as sharing the little bit of culture that our ancestors were able to preserve from the Entity’s claws to the Oppressor’s descendants. They say the Oppressed is mindless. I affirmed it once, I will again—how can one NOT be mindless after an atrocity? Are we supposed to be okay after our people and ways of life were wiped out, outlawed, and stolen? 

Anuhea Akiona was twenty-eight years old when she perished, and nobody remembered her other than the elders and locals. Tourists didn’t know a thing, nor should they. You cannot grieve a soul who-

The Entity is a vigorous poison that cannot be defeated. 

Dawn Akiona was nineteen. 

The Entity had no age restrictions. Everyone is a target, and has been a target since those colonizing bastards came and– 

The sun set faster than usual. Papahānaumoku must want to see me immediately. 

Dawn crossed a final street, then approached the beach—the beach that so many fought to keep away from tourism and the Entity. 

If my physical being is going to be possessed by the Entity, then may my spirit be transferred back home—where it all happens. 

White sand lodged itself into her toenails, skin, and nose when the light breeze kicked it up. She chuckled. The sand wants to come with me, I see.

A wave crashed onto the shore. It was relatively small compared to the waves that should’ve arrived at this hour, but she couldn’t complain. The slower, the better—maybe Papahānaumoku will free my being of this Entity that is crawling into my heart. 

She stopped before the water. 

The waves receded, then went forth again. The next one was even smaller, and it barely passed her feet. Nonetheless, the grip was strong, and similar to a pair of hands—Mama’s hands. 

Come home with me now, kaikamahine. 

Dawn wondered what life was like before the Entity’s arrival. 

I just see people. Free people. A happy community. Clean Earth. Fulfilled life. Our language, spoken. Children running on the beaches. Dances and songs passed around like a tray of stuffing on their Thanksgiving. Who would’ve known it’d all end. 

Dawn looked at the waves again. They were assuring, welcoming—a tribute refuge, like arms welcoming you back home after a long journey… and what a journey this has been. When the water passed her feet this time, the sand melted beneath her skinny toes, embracing her. She closed her eyes. Mama’s voice appeared. 

“He puka ana ka lā, e moe, e moe, i ka lewa o Lehua, i ka horizon, aloha, e ka papa o ka honua,” she whispered, in that same mellifluous voice Dawn could recall from the darkest corner of her memory. “Goodnight now, kaikamahine.” 

Dawn remembered that chant. He puka ana ka lā, e moe, e moe, i ka lewa o Lehua, i ka horizon, aloha, e ka papa o ka honua. It was a special chant, a chant that represented the importance of sleep. And in this case, eternal sleep. Liberated sleep. 

“It is my time to walk on the tears of Mother Earth, and return to what I know. My home, before it was taken.” 

***

Dawn Akiona, just like her mother and many women of the previous generations, committed suicide. The Entity robbed another soul and continues to, day by day.